


How We Heal

by justwanderingneverlost



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A targling is coming, And a few cliffhangers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Battle for the Dawn, Boatsex, Children of the Forest, Dragon Riders, Dragons, F/M, Ghost and Dany bonding, Green Men, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon's a dragonrider, Jonerys, Lightbringer, Red Priestess, Targaryen Restoration, The prince or princess who was promised, The smut that was promised, Winterfell, You may cry once or twice, jonerys trash, lots of feels, there will be angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-01-08 00:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 115,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12243456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justwanderingneverlost/pseuds/justwanderingneverlost
Summary: What was intended to be some love-filled Jonerys drabbles, but has turned into a full blown S8 canon adventure complete with romance, dragons, drama, angst, politics, prophecies, and the Battle for the Dawn. Fluff, smut, and all the feels still included.





	1. Offer me my deathless death

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Jonerys fic though I've been in the fanfic world for years in different fandoms. I may or may not move my other stuff over here at some point, but for now it'll be all Jonerys. This will be a multi chapter fic, not sure how many chapters yet, probably around 6 or 7. These two captured my heart so completely I couldn't not write about them. I still don't feel like I've done them justice, but I tried. Hope you enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> I am not the first person you loved.  
> You are not the first person I looked at with a mouthful of forevers. We have both known loss like the sharp edges of a knife. We have both lived with lips more scar tissue than skin. Our love came unannounced in the middle of the night.  
> Our love came when we’d given up on asking love to come. I think that has to be part of its miracle.  
> This is how we heal.  
> I will kiss you like forgiveness. You will hold me like I’m hope. Our arms will bandage and we will press promises between us like flowers in a book.  
> I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat on your skin. I will write novels to the scar of your nose. I will write a dictionary of all the words I have used trying to describe the way it feels to have finally, finally found you.
> 
> And I will not be afraid of your scars.
> 
> I know sometimes it’s still hard to let me see you in all your cracked perfection, but please know: whether it’s the days you burn more brilliant than the sun or the nights you collapse into my lap your body broken into a thousand questions, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.  
> I will love you when you are a still day.  
> I will love you when you are a hurricane.
> 
>  
> 
> Clementine von Radics, “Mouthful of Forevers”

Jon’s hand is shaking as it hovers above the intricately carved sigil on her door. He feels something akin to the tight coil of excitement and apprehension he gets before battle deep within his gut. His life will forever be changed once he allows his knuckles to rap against the wood. 

_It changed the moment you laid eyes on her, you fool. You've been lost ever since. But a Queen like her deserves a king so act like the king you claim to be._

One more breath… _Gods be good._

Three soft knocks sound against her door. He needn't have done so. She knew he was there, her ears picking up his approach, recognizing his steps, already so familiar. She felt him too, hesitating, anxiety filling the air around her, and maybe, even in... _her blood?_

_No, not possible. And yet..._

Less than a year ago she feared she would never feel again, that her heart was closed, shut off from the world. And now...now there was Jon Snow. 

She's not sure when exactly it began–when their eyes met for the first time–in the cave, when Drogon accepted him, or maybe when he left her standing on the shore feeling more alone than she’d ever felt. By the time she watched him fall through the ice she knew she’d been wrong about her heart, so terribly wrong. No matter when it began it still leaves her unsettled. Never before has she been so aware of another’s presence or their absence. All she knows is The King in the North is much more than the stubborn, arrogant man he first appeared and he has come to mean more to her than any man should.

Turning from her papers, she brushes the non-existent wrinkles from her night skirts, then smooths her hair even though Missandei brushed it to a silky shine not half an hour ago. She curses herself for acting the silly girl as she walks to the door and opens it. 

And there he is, stealing her breath and stopping her heart. His handsome face, usually so somber and serious, holds a crippling tenderness, asking for something they both have refused to put words to. Those dark eyes, the black pools that seem to always hold the weight of the world in them, stare at her with more emotions than she can name, but none of them hide the heat growing in their depths. She wants nothing more than to drown in their burning darkness. To drown in him.

Everything about him makes her weak. 

She pushes the door then drops her hand, silently bidding him to enter.

He needs no other invitation, his blood now coursing with the rare boldness only she seems to inspire in him. Eyes locked with hers, he steps inside her room and shuts the door, the latch clicking into place, harsh against the silence between them. Every word he planned to say feels pointless at the vision she is, along with the air in his lungs. 

Her silver hair is loose and tumbling like waves over her shoulders and back, nearly reaching her waist. He’s known she was young from the moment he laid eyes on her, but like this, her youth has never been more apparent. All of her hard edges are gone, replaced with a softness so sweet it's almost painful. The filmy nightgown she’s wearing only adds to her allure. It does nothing to hide her curves from his eyes, the candle light streaming through it heightening her own unearthly glow. Every time he’s looked at her he’s sworn she wasn't real, now he believes it more so than ever. She's the most beautiful sight his eyes have ever seen. His heart aches behind its scar, seeming to urge him closer to her with its every beat. 

The battle he’s been fighting within him for weeks, turns, whether it's in his favor or not, he doesn't know, but it propels him forward, spine straight as his sword, determination as strong as the steel it's welded from.

Dany tries to will her own heart to slow and her breath not to catch. She’s attempted to control her response every time she’s seen him, to keep her queenly mask firmly in place, not to let him, or anyone else know of her attraction. She probably failed many times, she knows she's failing now. 

There's never been a man more beautiful.

His wild, raven hair isn't tied back in its usual warriors knot, but loose about his face, the curls glinting as they catch the candlelight. They’re damp. He bathed before coming to see her. She can almost feel the soft, cool strands slipping through her fingers. He’s not weighed down by his heavy fur cloak or thick armor either. While not as distracting as his bare, bruised and scarred chest, the soft linen shirt and leather britches fitted tight to his form come very close, allowing her eyes a taste of what's hidden beneath.

This man moving towards her is not ice, but fire. Not the shy, reserved, or painfully respectful man he’s been for weeks. No, tonight he is stepping into the title she knows he never wanted but lives up to so well.

_King in the North. ___

____

He’s done with shifting around, exchanging words filled with hidden meanings, and stolen glances. He came prepared to get what he wants, becoming every bit the man, the wolf, she knows he is.

__

She's never been more drawn to him.

__

Even though she swore she would make him come to her, she finds herself moving forward as he does, their steps slow and careful, yet intent on bringing them together. 

__

They shouldn't, there's too much to do, to plan. Kingdoms to save. 

__

For once she wishes she weren't a Queen. Wishes they were both free of the clinging restraints of duty and honor that weigh them down like slavers chains. Wishes they could be the man and woman they are underneath all of that.

__

Images of another life filter through her mind… A simple house with a red door, the sharp tang of the lemons hanging plump and ripe from the tree outside blowing through the window. The giggles of little voices and their running feet filling the house as they run to greet their father. His smile, bright and full of happiness as he gathers them up in his arms then walks over to greet their mother. His eyes as soft and warm as his mouth when it meets hers in a kiss.

__

The vision stops her, every inch of her body trembling in protest. Jon’s eyes haven't left her.

__

“Why must you look at me that way?” she whispers, forcing her eyes from his to the floor, before she does something rash.

__

“How am I looking at you, my Queen?” His voice is soft and smooth, deeper than any rich, dark wine she's ever soothed her thirst with, yet rough enough to send a pleasing shiver down her spine. It spins her senses further out of control.

__

His scent has wrapped itself around her. Crisp and clean like the snows of his northern home, yet warm like the fire in the hearth, mixed with well worn leather. All distinctly Jon. He’s so close now, his strong body a breath from hers. 

__

He may not be the height the other men in her life were, but he's just as strong.

__

_No, stronger._ Outside and within. Weak men do not survive the frozen waters of the north, nor knives to the heart. 

__

And somehow, Dany knows Jon Snow will fit her like no other ever has and she him. 

__

_You're not like everyone else._

__

She’d wanted so badly to return the sentiment, but he’d kept speaking, filling her heart with more hope than she'd dared to let herself have in years. No other man had ever questioned it. It should have angered her when he did, but it didn't. His words were given softly, gentle. He’d meant no disrespect. It was as if in the chaos surrounding them he desired only to give her hope, to lift the punishing weight of grief from her heart, and maybe, it was even an offer to take it from her altogether. 

__

The memory sets her nerve ends tingling with want to touch him, to be sheltered in his arms, to hide in him. Her fingers twitch against her palms, her legs shaking, just as they did when they stood face to face in the dragonpit two days ago.

__

“Dany,” he whispers, his northern accent caressing and twisting her name into something pleasant, almost musical. 

__

It breaks her from the trance he has her under, or pulls her deeper. She cannot tell. Her eyes finally meet his again and she knows what she’s only allowed herself to dream.

__

_One to bed, one to dread…_

____

____

_One to love._

__

“Like you love me.”

__

Jon steps closer still, sliding his hands up her arms, begging her to fall with him as he pulls their bodies flush against one another, sending fire throughout her body. “And what if I do?” 

__

She shudders, not able to control her response to the meaning of his words, or the heat of his touch. Both of which she has been craving for weeks. 

__

_But she must. One of them must._

__

“We shouldn't—”

__

Jon leans closer, feeling the heat of her soaking into his bones. Next to her he is never cold, truly knowing what it means to be warm for the first time in his life. “You are a Queen. I, a King.” He lets his words blow across her cheek while his full lips brush against her soft skin. “Last I knew, we could do as we wished.”

__

“I'm not best for y—” 

__

His finger silences her, pressing her lips closed, but she needs him to hear, to truly know. Stepping back, she takes his hand in hers, raising her chin as she pins him with her violet eyes, hoping they hold more strength than she feels. “I thought you understood. I cannot give you what you deserve,” she utters, trying and failing not to let her tears fall.

__

Jon’s heart feels as if it's shattering within his chest, seeing the pain she works so hard to hide written so clearly in her eyes. Knowing,despite the unyielding presence she projects, underneath lies a fragile heart, one that’s been denied its fondest wish. He brings his hands up and gently cups her face, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. He heaves a great sigh, his brows furrowed as he stares into her eyes resolved to set her straight. “I, am a bastard. You, are more than I would deserve in a hundred life times.”

__

Dany doesn't even try to hold back her sob, her head shaking vehemently within his hands. “Please don't say that. It's not true, you deser—”

__

“Shhhhh. Let me finish,” he shushes her.

__

She swallows down the knot in her throat, nodding, as she looks away, blinking back more tears.

__

He pulls her closer, leaning in and pressing his soft lips to her forehead, before resting his against it. Dany bites hard into her bottom lip to keep another cry from escaping. 

__

_Has any man ever been so gentle?_

__

“I understood. I don't know that I believe it, but either way it doesn't matter. Not to me,” he whispers, pulling back and staring at her with his soulful eyes again. “Neither do your titles, your lands, your armies, your ships. Not even your name. None of those make me love you. My people might need them, but I only need you. Just, you. Just, Dany.”

__

She tries to pull away, his declaration too much to bare and leaving fat tears streaming down her cheeks. 

__

_How does he know exactly what she needs to hear? The secrets of her inner heart? Able to untie every knot she's holding herself together with so deftly?_

__

Not letting her run, Jon pulls her tight against his warm chest and wraps her in his arms. “I have fought all my life, first for things I thought I needed. A name, a mother's love, a place I could truly call home. I never got them. So I fought for other men and what they wanted.” 

__

She melts into him, letting the vibrations of his voice soothe her. It's been so long, too long since she's allowed herself to let down her walls. But, Jon... Jon knows. Finally, finally, someone knows.

__

“I fought for the people of the North and for what was right. They murdered me for it.”

__

Dany pushes against him. “What? No. You lived.”

__

Reluctant for more reasons than one, Jon lets her go. He should've done this sooner, when she first asked. She’s already seen them, but now he needs her to know. All of it. Taking a deep breath, he pulls his shirt off over his head and drops it at their feet. 

__

Dany's eyes once again stare in horror at the wounds scarring the pale skin of his battle-hardened chest and torso. Wounds far from healed, looking so fresh she fears they could erupt with dark blood at any moment. Another she loved also suffered terrible wounds, he left her and never came back. 

__

_But Jon came back to you. He’s here, right here._

__

Her hand shakes as she reaches up, running trembling fingers over the damaged skin above his heart, a new pain filling her own. “Why?” It's the only word she's able to put to her many questions.

__

“My own men. Six of them. The last, just a boy, his knife pierced my heart. They left me to die, to bleed out where I fell. They succeeded. I died that night, layin’ in the snow, my blood spillin’ black as the sky above me.”

__

Something deep inside Dany shifts, a memory slipping loose; the howl of a wolf filling her with sadness, causing her feel more alone than she already had.

__

It couldn't possibly have been, but she knows it was. Knows she felt this man die before she even knew he existed, felt his loss within her very soul. Her tears fall anew as she shakes her head, trying not to think of all the times they nearly lost each other. 

__

She can't imagine the pain he must have suffered. How anyone could turn against this man... “I'm so sorry,” she whispers, pressing her palm over the wound and a kiss to the center of his chest, wishing with all she is she could take away his hurt.

__

Jon closes his eyes, forced to take a deep breath, swearing he feels her fire burning away the bitter memories. When he looks at her again, there's still questions floating in her wet, luminous eyes. “The Red Woman, Melisandre brought me back, said her Lord of Light had plans for me.”

__

“Why didn't you tell me before?” she asks, her voice cracking. 

__

Knowing he's not hiding the pain from his eyes, but no longer caring, he tries to help her understand what he does not. “I almost did that day on the cliff before Ser Jorah came to you. I’ve never told anyone save Davos and Melisandre. It's something I don’t care to think about. The betrayal is hard enough on its own, but the rest… I don't have the answers to my own questions, let alone anyone else's. I don't know why they thought I deserved to die, and I surely don't know how it's possible for me to be standin’ here, alive and breathin’, after…”

__

Dany runs her fingertips through the short stubble covering his jaw, her heart threatening to break within her ribs. “However it's possible, I’m grateful you are.”

__

Jon takes her hands in his, bringing them to his lips, leaving a lingering kiss on her fingers. He doesn't release them. “I wasn't so grateful at first. I had done nothin’ but fight my whole life. I held tightly to the honor my father taught me and they killed me for it. When I was dead, I didn't have to fight anymore. There was nothin’, just black silence. I was free of it all. Then they brought me back. I was so angry and bitter. I didn't understand any of it. I did everything right and still I failed. I felt lost. Some called me a god, others put a title round my neck.” His whole body seems to rise then fall, a heavy breath of weariness leaving him. “King. That's what I’m called now, but I didn't ask for it, never wanted it. I still don't. A title doesn't matter to me, only that I can use it to save others. But all of that only made me have to fight again. I was tired of fightin’, but now…”

__

“Now?”

__

“How can I not be grateful? If I wasn't livin’ and breathin’ I never would've met my Queen.”

__

“Jon.” His name leaves her lips on a shuddered breath, barely even a whisper. Every fiber of his being wants to take those lips with his own, but not yet. Soon though, very soon.

__

“And I have my answers now. I know why the Lord of Light brought me back.”

__

“Why?”

__

“I'm meant to be by your side, to fight with you, so we can save them all, together. I'll fight for my brother and sisters, for my men, my people, your people, but I'm also here for something even more important and I'm not gonna to fight it anymore. I refuse,” he says, his voice no longer soft, but as strong as his northern roots. “I’m here to be yours and you mine. You're everywhere. I cannot think or even breathe that you're not there, and you feel the same, I know you do, because when I look at you, everything I feel is starin’ back at me. You love me, Daenerys, just as I love you.”

__

_Gods forgive me, I do. I’ve been a fool to keep us apart. No more. Never again._

__

Rising on her toes, her hands sliding up his chest and into the damp curls at the back of his neck, she whispers against his lips, “Love is too small and simple a word for what I feel for you, Jon Snow.”

__

“Aye.” 

__

It's the only response he can manage, there's no time for words now. Their bodies have waited long enough, aching too deeply to suffer anymore talk. 

__

His hands find her first, burying deep into silver strands to bring together wanting lips and the world seems to tilt beneath them. It's not the gentle rocking of the ship under their feet, but something more. Like the last piece of a puzzle slipping into place. Both of them feel it, shocked to stillness, but only for a moment; nothing will stop them now. They kiss like they're the only ones who ever have, until lips are full, swollen, and bruised, feeling as if they’ve been drained of a thousand kisses yet still want more. More is what they give. More kisses–more touch, more warmth, and more love.

__

Jon wraps an arm around her waist and picks her up, bringing them face to face before moving back towards the bed. He eases her slowly down his body and Dany's breath catches feeling his need pressing into her soft skin, hot and insistent. Then he sits down, pulling her between his spread thighs.

__

“I need to see you. All of you,” he whispers, reaching up and lightly dragging one of his fingers from the hollow of her throat all the way past her sternum, leaving chill bumps in its wake.

__

Dany slowly shrugs one shoulder, letting the thin strap slip off, then moves to do the other, but he stops her.

__

“Can I? Please?” he asks.

__

She nods, her breathing nothing more than shallow pants as he slowly removes her dress. It slips to the floor in a whisper of silk leaving her bare as her name day. He stares at her, dark eyes taking in every inch of skin, a mixture of both awe and love on his face. “You’re so beautiful, Dany. My eyes have never seen the likes of you.” His fingers ghost up her arms, across her collarbone, and down over her breasts. 

__

Her nipples strain against his touch, but he doesn’t linger there. Instead he spreads them around her rib cage and pulls her even closer, close enough to place a kiss over her pounding heart just before laying his cheek against it. Their arms find their way around each other and they stay locked together for some time, soaking in the peace only they seem to be able to provide one another. There’s too much to say, so they don’t say anything at all.

__

There isn’t a word for–all I once knew is no more, now there's only you–anyway.

__

Soon hands begin to travel softly over sensitive skin, touching places that thought they had long been forgotten, making them shiver with the joy of being remembered.

__

No longer willing to wait another moment, Jon stands and rids himself of his boots and pants and it's Dany’s turn to stare in awe and love. He doesn't let her look long, pulling her close, everything about him still hungry for her. He molds them together, his hands fisting in her hair, his demanding mouth taking from hers and suddenly there’s not a breath of space left within them that isn’t filled with burning. 

__

Every cell in Dany’s body is on fire for him in a way she's never felt before. It was never like this with the others. Not even close. It must be the same for Jon, she can feel it in the way his hands touch her. So very hungry yet almost reverent at the same time. They feel as if they’re leaving hot trails behind them as they glide across her skin. Her nerves sizzle under his fingertips. His lips and tongue like flames against her own, searing and scorching, only making her thirst for more.

__

For Jon, she’s the moon and he's the tide that can’t help but rise to meet her. She’s become his gravity, one that’s taken over his mind and body, drawing and pulling him ever closer and deeper. There’s no hope of turning back, stopping, or escaping her, nor does he want there to be. He's alive in her arms. More alive than he’s ever been.Jon breaks away to trail kisses down her neck and towards her aching breasts. He circles his tongue around one painfully tight nipple before gently sucking it into his hot mouth, his fingers teasing and pinching the other. She squirms and moans under his slow, careful attentions, throbbing for the stiff, heavy weight pressed against her thigh.

__

She has walked through fire, is called the Unburnt, flames cannot harm her, yet Jon Snow has built an inferno inside her, one that is spreading from her center up and out her limbs threatening to turn her to ashes at his feet. All she wants is to burn, and burn, and burn again.

__

And she wants it right now.

__

She pushes him back hard enough he falls onto the bed. When he sees the fire in her eyes he crawls up the bed making room for her, she’s on him before he’s settled, pressing her body tight to his, their lips and tongues dancing again.  


__

He wants to pull her into him until they melt into one. She’s nowhere near as close as he needs her to be. 

__

Her hands are searching every inch of the hot, smooth skin of his broad back and rippled sides they can reach. He feels even better than she imagined he would and she's drowning in her need for him.

__

Just as Jon is for her. His hands roam all her lines and curves, pressing and gripping gently. He wants to cherish her as if she’s his most prized possession, to preserve her body to his memory. Not able to wait another second he flips them. Then slowly, reverently enters her, both of them gasping as they become one. 

__

_Finally._

__

Maybe there is a word for this… whatever this feeling is between them, but Dany I cannot spare a breath to utter it. There's nothing to hide them from each other, not an inch of their flesh is being left untouched, and they are one in body. She wonders if with one more kiss, one more thrust of hips, that they won’t light up and burn.

__

Then suddenly Jon raises up, his eyes shining with unshed tears. His breath is rushing out in gusts from between his swollen lips, cheeks flushed, pupils blown as wide as the sea they float upon. He takes a breath, holding it, then his whole body shudders as it leaves him. He looks almost frightened, as if he can't believe any of this is real, yet nearly drowning in relief and Dany no longer remembers who she was before this, before he looked at her like this.

__

_Love comes in at the eyes._

__

She’s overwhelmed to the point of tears, but then he’s back, kissing her, loving her with everything he is.

__

All the thoughts, the feelings, they’ve kept so carefully within themselves spill out through fingers, hands, and lips, pouring out onto skin, crashing over them like waves against the shore. Both surrender to it all and relish in it. They love each other into the past, in the time before the first men. Before there was a name to call what they feel. Writhing limbs, gasping lungs, and eager souls, raw and wanting. They love with all they are–hunger, suffering, lust, and love, until there’s nothing left to do but take. Their need seeming to find no end, only crests and ebbs.

__

Afterwards they lay spent for sometime, amid the ruins of their bodies, buried in each other's skin, souls still intertwined, unable yet to be two. They're silent other than their labored breathing even though their minds are filled with thoughts.

__

Dany marvels at the feelings he's left in her. Jon Snow has consumed her, yet centered her with his strength. Dominated her body, fueled her passions, and intoxicated her emotions. She feels helpless against him, but for once is thankful for it, because she knows this king submits to her–his heart, his soul, and his strength are all hers for the taking. Hers to love. Hers to cherish. It’s what he wants most, for her to take him and make him hers. And she will, most likely forever, or at least until her last day.

__

Jon wonders how he ever thought one night would satisfy this aching within him. Now he knows a lifetime with her wouldn't be enough. The ache was maddening before, now it's almost intolerable. What has she done to him? Whatever it is, he doesn't care, nor does he wish her to stop. He wants nothing more than to look at her forever. To never take his eyes off of her. To be able to forget the weight of the world bearing down on them both and love her and be loved by her.

__

_Please, gods._

__


	2. My dearest love, I'm not done yet

“Should I go?” he asks, his voice quiet, unsure. So unlike the man who just spent the last hour shattering, then remaking everything she thought she knew of what could be between a man and woman.

Dany tosses the damp cloth back in the basin then makes her way across the cabin and steps between his open thighs. She slips her hand under his chin, drawing his face up, his gaze to hers. His cheeks are still flushed, lips pink and full, inky curls a tangled halo around his beautiful face. And gods, those eyes. She'll never get enough of the way they look at her, liquid and full of his tender, vulnerable heart. No man has ever been more lovely. “Do you want to?”

He gives the smallest shake of his head.

“Then you'll stay. Tonight, and the next, and the next,” She ghosts the back of her fingers over his cheek, “because it's what we both want.” 

_He has to know that, needs to._

His hands, the ones she will never look at again without thinking of how they’ve mapped her body, slide up the back of her legs, over the curve of her ass, then wrap around her waist, pulling her close. He kisses the taut flesh between her breasts, lingering there, breathing her in. When he looks up, his expression is still full of concern. “You're sure? I won't have them speak ill of you because of me.”

_Gods, what did she do to deserve this man and his unwavering loyalty and honor? His love?_

“Don’t worry. They wouldn't dare.” She steps out of his grasp, climbing back into the bed, holding the furs up until he joins her. She settles herself against his side, their arms and legs intertwining. Her lips curl up realizing once again she was right. No one has, or will ever fit together better than they do. “Everyone on this ship is loyal to you, me, or both of us. I'm fairly certain they knew the moment I agreed to sail with you this would happen.”

“That's not why I—”

She rubs his chest, kissing the smooth skin beside the scar over his heart. “Shhhh, I know it's not.”

“They won't approve regardless.”

She cranes her head back, scowling. “And why not?” Her anger is showing. Not at him, but that anyone would dare say what this was between them was wrong. Nothing has ever felt more right than him. Nothing. “Even if we had no feelings for each other, our alliance makes political sense. Together we are much stronger. What could they have against it?”

“Oh, I don’t know… That bastards aren’t good enough for—”

Dany rolls her body over his, straddling his lean hips, fire in her eyes as she stares down at him, hands pinning his to the bed, her hair a silver curtain shielding them from the outside world. She is every bit the dragon queen she appears, elegant and bold, despite her nakedness, or maybe because of it. She's glorious to look upon and Jon wonders once again how it's possible he’s here, with her, that this incredible woman loves him every bit as much as he loves her. 

“I, say you are good enough. If any want to challenge me, let them. They will not be long for this world.” 

Amusement finds its way through his awe of the woman seated over him and he smiles up at her. “Are you gonna to kill every man who speaks ill of me?”

She snarls like her children. “I might.”

Her defense of him melts another piece of his icy heart. He doesn't deserve it, or her, but it stirs him all the same. 

She begins stirring another part of him too, sliding her still wet center over his hardening cock. His heart is momentarily forgotten. 

“My first decree as your Queen is you are not allowed to call yourself a bastard anymore.”

He fights the lusty haze she's weaving around him, holding onto reality a bit longer. It's a strong suit of his. A man like him has never had the luxury of giving into his baser needs.

“Whether I say it or not, it's still what I am. What I’ll always be.”

Her eyes glint, like amethysts burning. “You're a King. My King.”

She's a mirror of Longclaw in this moment, sharp and lethal, and he knows within his control will become all the more powerful. He flips them over, his movements smooth and graceful after years of training. 

Eyes wide and pupils blown, she gasps, and then again as his mouth begins to trail over her perfect milky skin. First her mouth, then her jaw and down her neck. Her delicious moans spur him on, further down her body. He’s going to claim her just as fiercely as she did him, and give her another reason to call him king. 

The sudden change in him takes her breath, lying under his pale, beautiful body, trapped by it and his scorching eyes and mouth. This is what she wants, nowhere else she would rather be. Beneath him, at the bottom of his dark, delightful madness, knowing he will push her gasping and screaming into the light. 

Jon wants nothing more either. Only to watch her come apart at the end of his hands, to shatter underneath his mouth. To listen to her breaking over and over, then to the sighs that come after. To lay with her, beside her spent body, still glistening with the exertions of her pleasure. Just to be near her in the soft quiet, the world forgotten. 

So that's exactly what he does.

This time Jon is the one to leave their bed, walking across the room to the basin, his gait slow and loose, his joints and muscles no doubt as relaxed as hers. Snuggled into the warm furs, nearly asleep, she watches him. His body is that of a warrior's, years of training and fighting leaving him a sculpture of alabaster perfection, each muscle in sharp relief from the glow of candlelight dancing around the room. She almost lets a giggle escape thinking of the sonnets the minstrels could sing of his ass alone. It is a thing of pure beauty.

He finishes washing himself, turning back to join her again, bringing a clean cloth for her. He must catch the smile still lingering on her lips because his usual brooding mask slips allowing through what must be the first truly unguarded smile she’s ever seen from him. She’s struck speechless by the sight, not only by his beauty, how young and alive he is, but by how much she loves him. 

It's then she realizes the restlessness that has always plagued her from her earliest memory and everyday since, is gone. She thought it would leave her the moment she set foot on Dragonstone. It didn't. After weeks of nagging uncertainty she decided it wouldn't come until she sat on the throne, her kingdoms whole. But now, here with this man, she feels it. What she never has before. Peace. Belonging. Home. In two short months, Jon Snow has changed her life and everything she thought she knew and wanted, settling something deep within her. She nearly cries from the relief of it.

Jon hurries to her, not missing the emotions crossing her face. “Dany, what is it? What's wrong?” 

She sits up, cupping his cheeks and pressing her lips to his. Once, twice, three times, before pulling away to stare into his warm, but worried eyes. “Nothing is wrong. Nothing at all. I just love you, Jon Snow.” 

Surprise marks his beautiful face, then his smile returns, a sweet blush beginning to glow across his cheeks, making her love him all the more. Wrapping his arms around her he twists and pulls them down onto the bed, kissing her softly. “I love you too, Daenerys Targaryen,” he answered back, the weight of his words heavy and full of his heart.

They lay there staring at one another, like the contented lovers they are, smiling, eyes glowing, hands touching, just basking in each other. 

Eventually Dany breaks the silence. “My second decree–”

He chuckles. “Back to those already?”

“Yes. You are not to tie your hair back anymore,” she says with false command, her fingers dancing in his dark curls and against his scalp.

The sensation it causes threatens to close Jon’s eyes and he knows if that happens he'll quickly succumb to sleep. He never wants this night to end so he props his head up on one hand, while keeping the other busy making trails over the silky pale skin of her side. “Is that so?”

Dany nods curtly, trying and failing to control the twitch of amusement at the corner of her mouth. “It is.”

He does the same, apparently lip twitching is contagious. “I never used to, but I got tired of being called pretty.”

“But you are pretty,” she giggles at his expense. 

Jon, for once doesn't care he’s the brunt of the joke. He’s never heard such a joyous sound from her, it warms his heart as nothing else ever has. He gives her a smile of his own, while brushing back some of her pale hair from her face. “Not as pretty as you.” 

“Who knew the brooding Jon Snow was such a charmer?” she muses, light dancing in her violet eyes, while she traces the curve of his smile with a fingertip. “My third decree is you must smile just like this at least five times a day. And only for me. You will be my pretty, happy King.” 

He laughs quietly, then places a kiss on her lips, soft and reverent. “As you wish, my Queen.”

A tear slips lose then, she can't help it. She doesn't know whether to rejoice at finally finding him, or weep with sorrow. _What they're facing… They’ve so little time. It's just not fair._

His thumb, gentle and soft, wipes her tear away. “Dany. I can't bare to see you like this. Talk to me. Let me help.”

As much as he wants help, she's not quite ready to go there yet. It won't be long though. She burrows into his chest, wrapping her arms and legs around him and changes the subject. “Did you know Melisandre came to Dragonstone?”

His body tenses beside hers. “I did not. What did she want?” He cannot keep the wariness from his voice. She might have brought him back, allowed him this time with Dany, but he still doesn't trust her.

“She showed up uninvited one night speaking of a prophecy.” Jon’s chest rises and falls with a heavy sigh. She looks up at him. “You know what she was talking about?”

“The prince who was promised.”

“Or princess.” His eyebrows raise. “Missandei said the translation wasn’t clear. There is no gender attached to the word, it could mean either, prince or princess.”

“She told me I was the prince, and I’m assumin she believes you're the princess.”

“She didn't use those words exactly, only that we both had a part to play in the great war. She told me to summon you.”

“I thought Tyrion was behind it.”

“He encouraged me, said you were a good man.”

Jon huffs humorously. “I bet his opinion has changed a bit.”

“No, it hasn't.”

“Yours surely has,” he teases her, nuzzling into her neck, tickling it with his beard. 

She laughs and it sounds like bells to Jon's ears. “Only a little.”

He scoffs, though there's a mischievous glint in his coal dark eyes. “Admit it, you wanted to burn me alive.” 

She's giggling now and can't seem to stop. “The thought did cross my mind. You were so stubborn.” 

“Me? And what about you?”

“I am never stubborn.”

It's Jon’s turn to laugh. He does, loud and long, shaking her and the bed beneath them, and Dany thinks it must be the most beautiful sound, and sight, she's ever known. 

She pins him with a false glare once he contains himself. “I can still burn you alive, you know?”

His eyes narrow, lips still in twitching. “You wouldn't dare. I doubt Drogon would either, he likes me.”

Dany stills, all the mirth leaving her face. “He’s never liked anyone else. Never. It took him ages to like me once he had grown some.”

“Does it bother you?”

“What? No, of course not. But it does make me think, as does Melisandre and her prophecy.” She takes him in, eyes and hands tracing his beautiful face. “Do you think we were meant to be? That the gods, fate, conspired to bring us together for a purpose?” 

A deep crease forms between brows, her fingers itch to smooth it away. “I’ve never put stock in any prophecy, and I surely don't trust a woman that burns children at the stake for her so called Lord, but—”

“Burns children!?”

“Aye, she did. Stannis’ young daughter. She thought he was the prince. Convinced him to burn his own daughter to make the prophecy come true. After he failed she came to Castle Black, decided I was the prince she needed. She brought me back because Davos begged her to. Of course she stayed close after that, followed me to Winterfell. When I found out what she'd done, I banished her. Told her if I ever set eyes on her again I’d kill her myself.” Dany can only shake her head, staring at him in disbelief and concern. “Apparently she came straight to you.” He watches her, almost seeing the thoughts running through her sharp mind as she stares up at the ceiling above them.

“Magic can be dark and twisted, I haven't trusted it for a very long time. It's always been used against me till now.”

“Till now? What do you mean?”

Dany purses her lips and shakes her head. “Those are stories for another night, but while she took the life of that child, which is unforgivable, she also gave me you. How can I not be grateful? And all the rest…it seems too…I don't know, not easy, but planned? A prophecy, fate, the gods–I just feel something or someone wanted us to be together. Please tell me I’m not mad, that you feel it too.”

Jon slides his fingers into her hair and around her neck, leaning his forehead against hers. “You are not mad,” he assures her, kissing her softly, “and aye, I feel so much for you I don't know what to do with it all.” He pulls away, only enough to look into her eyes. “I’ve felt many things, but never this. I knew my heart was heavy–all my responsibilities, duties, people's lives–but now… I didn't know it could feel like this. Your uncle, maester Aemon—”

Surprise fills her eyes, her plump lips open with bated breath. “You knew my uncle?”

“He was at the Wall with me.”

“Did he know I was alive? Did he care?”

Jon's heart nearly breaks, hearing words so like those he asked long ago. Seeing the hope in her eyes, hope he's very familiar with and knows even a lifetime of pain cannot damper is kin to the bite of steel sliding into his gut. Thankfully he can tell her different than his Lord Father told him. He strokes the soft skin of her cheek with his thumb and smiles down at her softly. “He knew, and he cared, but he was very old, blind, and bound by his vows. He couldn't have helped you, no matter how much he wanted to.” 

Her hand reaches for his wrist, gripping it, needed something to cling to as her emotions spin. Tears well in her violet eyes, but she doesn't let them fall. “Thank you. You have no idea what that means to me.”

His head falls against hers again, his eyes closed. “Aye, I do.”

Dany nudges him back, worry filling her. “Your family, they weren't kind to you?”

“As well they could be.”

“Your father, surely.”

“He was never cruel, but his Lady Wife… I brought shame upon her family. It was enough he allowed me to live amongst them. I know I had it better than most. A roof over my head, food to fill my belly, masters to study under, siblings to grow up with.”

He’s smiling, but Dany knows it isn't true. She's given enough false smiles to recognize one. “But what of love?”

His solemn mask is now firmly in place as he rolls away from her and onto his back. “Most of my siblings didn't let their mother's feelings affect theirs, but they knew I was different, knew I didn't quite belong. But Arya loved me, Robb, Bran, probably Rickon too. He was so young when I left.” Pain slices through his heart, the vision of his baby brother running to him, begging him with his terrified eyes to save him. Not for the first time he wishes he could bring Ramsey back from the dead just so he could kill him again, slowly. 

Dany's gentle touch pulls him from his dark thoughts. “I'm sorry, I interrupted you, you were telling me about my uncle.”

He kisses her in silent thanks. “He asked me what honor was next to a woman's love. He said the gods fashioned us for love. At the time I scoffed at him, thought he was a crazy old man. He wasn't.” Cupping her face he kisses her again, before whispering against her lips. “Nothin compares to this.”

They lose themselves for a time, their mouths and hands saying all that needs to be said. Eventually they settle, bodies pressed close together, fingers mapping skin.

“Am I horrible for entertaining the idea of turning this ship east?” Dany whispers, breaking the silence. 

“If you are, I am too,” Jon answers, his voice rough, with disuse or emotion. Probably both. “I’ve thought of fleein more times than I care to admit. Of gettin my siblings, then all of us leavin that shit place behind us. Lettin the Night King have it and everyone that refused to listen to me. I'm not much of a king, am I?”

“Nonsense. I can't imagine the frustration of not being believed. I'm sorry I was a part of that.”

“You do now, that's what matters.”

“Is there any hope?”

“More than we had, thanks to you.”

“I suppose there's none of keeping you off the battlefield?”

His eyebrows raise. “Is there any of keeping you off your dragon and locked in my castle?”

“If you're fighting, so am I.”

Jon sighs and pulls her closer. “I know. I would not ask that of you, but...I just found you and the thought of… I’ve had nearly everythin in my life taken from me. It was barely worth livin before, without you–”

Dany squeezes him and presses a kiss to his chest. “I know.”

“But I want to fly north and slaughter them all for takin your child from you. I want them to suffer. Then I want to march south and help you win the throne. I want to watch them crown you queen, to see you make this world better. I want to help you achieve it all,” he runs his hand low over her stomach. “everything you've ever wanted.”

“Jon.”

“I mean it, Dany. All of it. We deserve some peace and I mean for us to find it.”

“I'm not sure I know what peace feels like, if I ever knew.”

Jon rolls on top of her, caressing her face, smoothing her hair back. “This is peace. Us, here. Tonight. I’ve never known anythin’ like it. I know I never want to feel anythin’ else but this, so it must be.”

Her smile is small, tucked away in the corners of her mouth, shining just enough to be seen in her eyes. “It must, and now that I know,” she swallows, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, then letting it slide free again, “I will fight for us to have it, as I’ve never fought for anything else. We’ll have our peace, Jon Snow,and we'll have it together.”

“Together.”


	3. Honey, you're familiar like my mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after

Jon is the first to wake, the thumps of heavy boots echoing through the wood beams over their heads jolting him from sleep. He lays panting, heart racing as his ears strain to determine threat from mundane. He hears no shouting, or earth shattering roars from any dragons so all must be well. 

Her warm, soft body shifts beside him, silver strands of silk sliding over his chest and stomach raising goosebumps along his skin despite the sticky heat between them. Blood of the dragon indeed. He'll never be cold again next to her. She turns over, settling on her back with a quiet, contented sigh. 

_By the gods, she's beautiful._

If not for seeing her here next to him he would have thought it all a dream. Life has never treated him so well as it did last night. Not even close. He’s known anger, not love. War, not peace. And fear instead of happiness. He has known pain and waste like a virgin sacrificed to false gods. He has even known death. He’s tried not to allow them to overtake him, to turn him into a man of hate and bitterness, keeping a tight grip on hope. That hope became flesh and blood the moment he laid eyes on her. Not just hope for his people, but for his soul. 

It's difficult to believe last night happened, let alone that this amazing woman beside him seems to love him every bit as much as he does her. Yet here she is, sleeping peacefully, an offer and a dare in one, laid out before him like a feast. Supple limbs, enticing curves, and fiery blood flowing under soft, smooth, pale flesh all wrapped around a warrior’s heart.

_What has he ever done to deserve her?_

__

__

_Not a fuckin thing._

That's what scares him most. That she'll wake up, maybe this morning, or the next and realize she's too good for him. That she'll see him for what he really is, just a bastard pretending to be a king. She'll leave him behind. The ones he loves most always do.

Maybe if he pretends all the harder he can keep convincing her. And maybe the gods too. If nothing else he has to persuade her to let him stay close so he can protect her. He knows she can take care of herself, but the kingdoms need her and she deserves to rule. One more soldier guarding her won't hurt. Even if she turns him from her bed and her heart he will see her sitting on the Iron Throne. He will serve her in whatever way she allows, even if it means giving his life. 

For now though, he’s going to push those thoughts aside and love his Queen. Memories of last night–their passion, her sweet cries, the peace he felt–are all too much to ignore. 

The swell of one soft breast is peaking from under the furs. He frees it, and its twin, slow and gentle so as not to wake her. He wants her body filled with pleasure before she does. He watches, mesmerized as her dusty pink nipples begin to pucker in the cool air. Careful to hold his weight off of her he leans over and traces one bud with the tip his tongue. It hardens further, just as his cock does against her thigh. He keeps his touch light as whispers he licks and sucks the one while reaching over to trace the pad of his finger around the other. 

It doesn't take much before she breaths deep, a languid stretch running through her body, her hips rising under the heavy furs. He stops his teasing, letting her settle into sleep again before throwing the furs onto the floor and moving further down the bed. Thankfully it's big enough to allow him room to lay below her. He must have really worn her out last night, because she doesn't stir at all when he moves her leg to slip underneath it. 

First, he kisses along her inner thighs, up one and down the other. Next, he uses his fingers, ghosting them over her milky skin, then lightly through the silver curls that hide the center of her pleasure. That's when she begins to wake. 

The second her thighs spread enough he makes his move, sliding his tongue between her luscious lips. He has to hold back a groan at the taste of her. She's honey and spice and heat. A combination that makes his cock ache to be buried inside her. But her pleasure comes first. 

Taking it slow, but not forgetting what made her cry out the loudest, he sets to work. It only takes a few strokes before she begins to squirm and moan. When he seals his lips over her tight bundle of nerves and begins to suckle her fingers grip his hair. 

“Jon.” His name is a breathless sigh, filled with pleasure. 

He’s never liked hearing it more. It's even more rewarding knowing, that even half asleep she knows who her lover is.

He pulls away only long enough to greet her. “Good morning, my beautiful queen.” 

She gasps in return, his tongue stealing her words. 

Jon knows they don't have much time before duty will pull them from their private sanctuary, so he wastes none, sliding two fingers through her slick folds, then slipping them inside her. 

Dany moans, her hips rising again, while her velvet walls clench around his fingers as he slowly moves them in and out. Refusing to leave her wanting long he leans forward and begin to torture her with his tongue. Slow, feather-light licks at first, then gradually increasing the pressure and speed, never stopping the movement of his fingers.

“Gods, what are you doing to me?” she gasps, tremors running through her with each flick of his tongue, her fingers gripping and releasing where they're tangled in his hair.

Jon doesn’t answer, wrapping his lips around her sensitive nub instead. He begins to suck, keeping it soft and easy, slowly letting her pleasure build. It only takes a few minutes before high-pitched whimpers fill the room. Dany covers her mouth as her hips rise off the bed, her thighs tremble against his head, her back arching. With several firm, quick pulls of his fingers, she shatters, screaming his name, but Jon continues to stroke and lick until the last waves leave her boneless. 

But when her eyes open, they are dark and heavy with lust, and she pulls at him with arms, hands, and legs, silently ordering him to join her.

He doesn't hesitate, moving between her thighs and slowly entering her in one stroke, both of them gasping in relief. Hard, hot, and stretching her perfectly, her throbbing walls pull him in. She tilts her hips to take him even deeper, aftershocks rocking through her and spurring them to an intense pace. She kisses him, her need as deep as his own. Her tongue sweeping into his mouth to dance with his, her ragged breaths filling the spaces between their lips. 

Jon takes everything she’s giving and returns it, letting her have a taste of what his mouth had moments ago until she's gasping for air. But he doesn't want it to be over too soon, there's no telling how long it'll be before they can be together again. Their lives are never certain and they're on a ship full of people. He wants it slower, and even sweeter than the night before, yet no less passionate. 

Dany revels in Jon's pleasure, mixed with her own. She watches him above her as he slows down, his strokes now smooth and fluid, letting them feel every wonderful inch of each other. The morning sun is streaming across him, throwing light off his raven curls and pale glistening skin. It catches all the shades of grey and brown in his eyes as he stares down at her. Like light dancing through a shallow river. She could drown in them forever.

His muscles and tendons glide and strain in rhythm with his movements. He’s a work of art begging to be touched. Begging her to feel every sculpted rise and fall under her hands. Of course, she answers their plea.

He looks down through heavy lids and long lashes, pupils wide, hips speeding up, his sexy mouth parted as he pants. He’s the picture of love, desire, and passion. She’s sure he's seeing the same in her.

Soon her hands, her mouth, the grinding of her hips, her slick heat, all become too much for him. He was mad to ever think he could be in control where she's concerned in the first place. Thankfully, Dany is right there with him, both of them finding their release together. 

Jon grins, he can't help it. Looking down into her flushed face, eyes dreamy pools of purple, and pink lips stretched into a contented smile. All because of him. If he wouldn't sound like a bloody fool he’d probably howl with pride. Instead he kisses her, then eases over onto his back, his every muscle and bone has turned to liquid heat. She rolls towards him, resting her head against his shoulder and slinging a leg between his. 

His eyes close, while his fingers draw lazy strokes along her thigh. He's almost asleep when she asks, still breathless, “Will you tell me about them one day?” 

Jon looks over, brows drawn. “Who?”

“The other women who loved you.”

His brooding mask appears as he turns back to stare at the low ceiling above them, hiding the sweetness she’s been privileged to see as of late. She curses her curiosity. “What makes you think there were other women? Or that they loved me?”

Dany scoots closer, molding her body to his and reaches out to caress his cheek. She turns his face towards hers, hiding nothing from him as she stares into his eyes. “How could they not when you're you?”

The faintest of smiles tugs at his mouth. He takes her hand in his and kisses her fingers before laying their entwined hands over his heart. “There was only one.”

“One?”

“Just one. Why do you look surprised?”

Dany scoffs. “Jon.” 

“What?”

He can't possibly not know this. “You are… Well, it was never so… I didn't know...”

His eyes sparkle with mischief as pulls away to look at her better. “Are you blushing, my Queen?”

“Stop it.” She shoves against his side hard enough to make him laugh. When he calms down she tucks her face into his chest to hide her warm cheeks. “You're very generous. Did she teach you that?

“Teach me what?” he asks, trying and failing to act innocent.

This time she pinches him, on the soft skin just inside his hip bone. "You know what." He jerks away, laughing harder than before.

He finally decides to have mercy, rolling over and kissing her. “No, no one taught me. I heard things growing up. Being around the soldiers and such. I knew men liked women to kiss them there. Figured it worked both ways.” 

“You're a smart man, Jon Snow.” 

He huffs, a bit of humor lighting his eyes, but then it fades and he goes quiet. “Not always,” he says a few moments later, his tone heavy.

“Who was she? Did she love you?”

She doesn't like thinking of him with someone else, but the thought of that woman not loving him is worse. 

“She was a Wildling, and they don’t see things the way others do. I suppose she cared in her own way, but not enough to keep her from putting three arrows in me.”

“What?”

Jon can't help but let out a dry laugh at Dany's furious expression. “It doesn't matter. I survived. She didn’t.”

She’s pleased to hear it, thoughts of hunting down the woman were too tempting by far. “Did you love her?” She shouldn't have asked, shouldn't care, but needs to know all the same. 

His eyes search her face, softening with each second that passes. “I thought I did. I grieved her loss for a long time, but what I felt for her...tis a shadow in comparison to what I feel for you. It's as you said last night, love is too simple a word for what this is.” He kisses her, soft and sweet, slow and lingering, just his lips against hers, yet Dany feels her heart swelling and pressing to be closer to him. He lets her go much sooner than she wishes. “Anyway, she and I were doomed from the start. I was young and stupid.”

“What happened?”

“Her and her people attacked the castle. They thought I betrayed them. She was ready to put another arrow in me. Olly, the boy who stabbed me put one through her heart first. She died in my arms.”

“I'm so sorry.” She wants to pull him close, to comfort him, but can already feel his walls going up. She tries anyway, kissing the pale skin of his chest while running her hand in soothing strokes up his side. “You and I seem to be very much alike.”

His voice rumbles under her ear, deep and rough as gravel, “How so?”

“Neither of us felt like we had a home, or a family that loved us, and now I learn we both lost our first loves. Drogo died because of me, because I trusted that witch. I saved her from being raped and she repaid me by leaving my husband a mindless shell and killing my child. I couldn't stand to see him suffer so I smothered him with a pillow, then burned her alive.”

Jon’s arms wrap around her, his hands rubbing her back in soothing circles and gently holding her head against his chest. He presses a lingering kiss to forehead. “Gods, Dany. I'm sorry.” She kisses the scar over his heart, but stays quiet. “Did you love him?” he asks after sometime.

She no longer wants to talk about them, but it's only fair, she started it. “By the end, I think, maybe. I'm not so sure anymore. For a long time he was cruel. I was a child, he was a grown man. He raped me, more than once, and I wanted to die, more than once.” She doesn't have to look at Jon to know he's angry, she can almost feel him vibrating with it. She rubs his side hoping to calm him. “It’s as you said, it doesn't matter, he’s dead. I learned to accept it, to turn it in my favor, excused him for not knowing any better. I did grieve, for him, our child, and many other things. I listened to him, believed in him and that evil witch. They both failed me. That's when I began to believe only in myself. No one else could hurt me then.”

He rolls them over, settling between her thighs, while brushing her hair behind her ear, his dark eyes full of conviction. “I will never hurt you.”

Dany smiles, then kisses him, because how could she not? “I know you won't. You have too pure a heart, but,” her eyes trail down to his scars.

“Dany?”

Her eyes flick up to his. “You can never leave me again, Jon. When I thought you died, I nearly went mad. I can't lose you. I'll burn the whole world down if I do.” 

“I have no plans to leave you.”

“I mean it. You’ve died once, nearly died again. No more being the brave hero who does stupid things. I need you by my side.”

“I will do everything within my power to stay with you. There is no where else I want to be,” he whispers against her temple, giving it a kiss, then looking down again, “but you know we're facin’ a war like no other.”

Her eyes spark, intent and determined. “I know, that's why when we get to Winterfell you’re going to meet Rhaegal. If Drogon accepted you, I know he will. I’ll teach you how to speak to him, and ride him. He’ll be yours.” 

“Dany.”

“No, Jon. I will not have you fighting on the ground. You’ll be safer in the air with me.” It's no longer Dany speaking, but The Dragon Queen. 

“It pains me to say it, but we aren't going to be safe there either,” he warns. 

She’s not deterred. “We'll make armor for them. Armor his spears cannot cut through. For all of us.”

Jon doesn’t believe there's any metal save Valyrian that could deflect the Night King's spears, but he cannot tell her that, for many reasons, the biggest being he hates to be the root of her upset. He’s been that more times than he cares for already. Leaning over he kisses her forehead, attempting to ease her fear and agitation. “That could work. We'll speak to the others about it, get their thoughts, and with my smiths at Winterfell. We'll figure out somethin. We'll keep them safe.”

“We'll keep us safe.”

“I promise.”

He kisses her then, as if it's the first time and the last time, until her stomach protests its emptiness. 

He laughs against her lips and she wants to cry. She wants to make him laugh for the rest of her days, to feel his smile against her own. Please, gods.

“Shall I go fetch the queen her breakfast?” he asks, nuzzling into her neck with his nose.

She nearly whines at the thought of him leaving her, even for only a moment, but as he said, she is a queen. She must act like one. 

“Thank you, my king. That would be most kind of you.” 

He peppers soft kisses on her nose, her cheek, her neck, and then her chest before rising from the bed and beginning to cover his beautiful body with his dreary clothes. “What would you like me to say if I encounter anyone?” he asks, tugging his pants over his pale, but perfect ass. 

_Such a pity._

“It's none of their business. What was it you said to me last night? I'm a queen and you're a king, we can do as we wish. Tell them that if they have the gall to ask. But I don't think they will.”

Jon huffs. “Tyrion will. Davos too.”

She lets out an unladylike snort. “No doubt, but you can handle them. I believe in you.”

She's smiling mostly in jest, but there's more hidden in her eyes. Enough to cause his heart to clench beneath his ribs. 

_I believe in you too._

He returns to her once more, unable to fight the need to feel her lips against his own again. Her small hands cup his face, holding him hostage even longer. Finally she pulls back, breathless and whispers, “Hurry back.” 

“Yes, my Queen.” 

 

\---

 

Jon is more than a little surprised to find the dining cabin empty save for the steaming food set out. Though it was barely sunrise when he woke. It’s early still. Maybe if he hurries he can get their food and return before anyone sees him. He’s just grabbed a plate when a very discernable voice fills the air. 

“My, someone’s up early. Or perhaps never went to sleep in the first place.”

_Seven hells._

Jon doesn't bother facing him, searching through the food for something he remembers Deanerys eating. “I’m not havin this conversation, so don't bother tryin to start it.”

“I am her hand, you know I must.” His tone sounds tired and falsely bored as always.

Jon shakes his head, closing his eyes and breathing deeply before turning around and piercing the little lord with his dark gaze. “We all know more than likely none of us will still be alive within a month. Let us have this. Both of us have done nothin but fight and suffer our whole lives. We deserve some peace and whatever pleasure we can find for however long we can find it.”

Jon’s patience wears thin as he watches Tyrion shuffle to a chair and sit down, his ever present goblet of wine in his hand. “I will not argue that, but this is about a lot more than finding a few moments of pleasure. You love her, and she loves you,” he says, twisting the statement into an accusation.

Their love being painted as a crime boils Jon’s blood as if Drogon’s fire was running through his veins. He’s across the room and in Lord Tyrion's face before he can stop himself. “And that changes things how?”

The imp tilts his head, eyebrows vanishing under his messy curls. “So you don't deny it?”

“No, I don't deny it! Answer the question.”

Tyrion sighs, seemingly unfazed by the Northern King’s anger. “You are a smart man, Jon Snow. I'm certain you already know the answer.”

“Do you think I planned this? That she did?”

Tyrion shakes his head. “No,” he says, letting the word slowly leave his lips, then he takes another drink from his cup, before setting it down gently on the table, “and if we weren't facing the end of the world I’d be first in line to congratulate you both. You're a good match, probably the best match. Young, beautiful, both extraordinary leaders in your own rights. Adored by your people. You two could be the fairytale the minstrels sing about and no doubt could rule the seven kingdom better than anyone I’m aware of.”

Jon straightens, the glare fading from his eyes as they leave the little lion’s to stare out the small port window. He’s tried not to let himself image it, ruling by her side. Bastards didn't marry Queens even if they had been titled King in the North. Not to mention he doesn't expect to survive the great war.

“I want to be happy for you, truly,” Tyrion says, breaking him from his musing, “but unfortunately, we are facing the end of the world. I need your heads clear, not full of love and devotion.”

Just like that Jon’s ire rises to the surface again. “You think we don't know that? We tried to ignore it, to put it aside. Dany and I know what's at stake better than anyone. But there was no fightin it.” 

“Dany now, is it?”

Jon’s face pinches in anger, mostly at himself. One night and he's already slipping. He walks away with a sigh, trying to busy himself with getting the food he came for, but it's all a blur before his eyes. “I'm learnin we don't get to choose who we love, or when we do.”

Tyrion sighs this time, shifting in his chair. “No, we do not.”

Jon turns, joining him at the table, suddenly exhausted. “Did you love my sister?”

“I cared for her deeply, still do, but no. Not in the way you do my Queen.”

“Our Queen.”

“Ah, yes. Mustn’t forget you bent the knee.” He pours more wine in his goblet, then pours one for Jon as well, sliding it across the table to him. “Is she the first to steal your heart? She's stolen many others, you know?”

“I have no doubt she has. But no, there was a Wildlin girl. I was all of sixteen and she was beautiful and strong, and very determined.”

Tyrion’s eyebrows disappear under his messy curls again. “You broke your vows.”

“I did. I paid for it too,” he says, sliding his shirt over, revealing the scar above his heart. Now that she knows, he’s no longer sure why he worked so hard to hide them.

The revelation sits the little Lord back in his chair. “A queen who can walk through fire and a king who can cheat death. You two are quite the pair.”

“I didn't cheat it. It most definitely won. Just so happened there was a red woman around to bring me back.”

“Melisandre?”

Jon nods. 

Tyrion’s brows now gather over his golden eyes. “She was at Dragonstone. It was her idea for you to meet our queen. She was very keen about a certain prophecy. Something about a Prince that was promised. Maybe there is hope for us yet.”

“I'm clingin to that. Hope, not her and her prophecy.”

“As we all are.”

They sit in silence for some time, their discontent overridden by more important thoughts. Jon eventually stands and fills a plate for Daenerys, then taking the wine Tyrion poured, he nods at the lord.

Tyrion returns it, his eyes not quite as grave as they were when he arrived. “Love her if you have no other choice, but promise me the two of you won't forget your duty. There are too many lives at stake.”

Jon shakes his head. “I doubt either of us will be forgettin that any time soon.”

Of course, just as he starts down the hall, Davos appears at the other end. 

_Seven bloody hells, not again._

“Mornin, yer grace.”

Jon just gives him a tight smile.

“Breakfast in bed? Didn't know you enjoyed such luxuries.”

“I'm a King now, might as well act like one.”

“Aye, I reckon so. Just be mindful which king you be acting like.”

By all accounts, Davos should be dead where he stands if the look Jon’s giving him means anything. 

Davos steps back, hands up. “Beggin your pardon, yer grace. Enjoy yer morning.”

“Oh dear, was it that bad?” Dany asks as soon Jon walks in and she sees his face.

“Tomorrow morning, you're getting us breakfast,” Jon grumbles, settling beside her. 

Dany's bell-like laughter is heard by everyone in the dining cabin. Jon’s soon joining it. They all share reluctant smiles. 

An alliance between the north and south may not be such a bad thing.


	4. I'd be home with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany arrive at Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long! I'm actually in the process of publishing my third book and it tends to take over my life. I wanted to say thanks for all the kudos and wonderful comments! The love you've shown this little fic is amazing!! Hope you enjoy this chapter too!

The journey home has been a long one. Over two moons had passed since he’d last been in Winterfell, but to Jon it has passed all too quickly. He wants to be home, of course he does. To see Arya again, Bran. He’s missed them so. There were too many nights he lay awake haunted by thoughts of them alone and dying, feeling more helpless than any man should. Knowing how close he is to looking upon their smiling faces again brings a lump to his throat that's difficult to swallow. 

But he is not the man that left Winterfell months ago. Not anymore. Thanks to the tiny, yet fierce woman riding at his side bundled under her furs. He could have stayed on the ship with her forever.

They’ve come so far since that first fiery meeting, and even further since setting sail. Spending nearly every hour of the day and night together does that. He’s never felt closer to another person than Dany. He'd never had a relationship with anyone that wasn't difficult, with her it was effortless. Each night they’ve spent laying in each other's arms has only brought them closer together. 

It's been the same every night, they lose themselves to the intense passion they feel, then spend hours after talking. Telling stories, learning more and more. Dany was right that first night. He knows it without a doubt now. They were meant to be. Whether that has to do with a prophecy or not he doesn't care. She is his and he is hers. Til the end of their days. 

Which unfortunately may not be far off considering.

Their traveling companions accepted their alliance without much fuss and fairly quickly. After the first few days they gave up trying to be discreet. Tyrion of course gave them the most trouble. He was worried, but it was his job to be so. With some encouragement from Varys and Davos he came around. Now all they have to do was convince the Northern Lords and his family. 

Jon knows that’s going to be easier said than done, but he’s determined to make them see that while some things have changed, his goal to protect the North hasn't. He’s returning with an army larger than any Northman has ever seen. Enough dragon glass so every man will be armed, fire breathing dragons, and a queen whose heart is as tenacious as his own. They have to see reason. 

_Gods be good._

Dany’s breathless whisper pulls him from his thoughts. “Jon. It's beautiful.” 

They have crested the last hill, his home finally coming into view, and it is beautiful. Covered in snow, the sunlight making every inch of it glitter as if it's covered in diamonds. The Stark sigil flies from every turret, proud and fierce atop its wintery home.

He smiles at Dany's shocked face. “What? Did you think I lived in a filthy pile of stone?”

She sputters, fearing she's insulted him. “Of course not, I just didn't think…”

“I'm teasin, love.” He winks at her, then turns, watching Winterfell grow larger before them. “It's not the Red Keep, or Dragonstone, but it's not half bad either.”

Dany gazes at him, admiring him and all he is, all he stands for, and counts her blessings once more that he is hers and she his. “It befits its king. Strong, worthy of its place, and full of promise.”

At her words, his dark eyes find hers, reflecting back all the love she feels.

 

\---

 

“He’s here, Arya,” she calls down to her little sister, sparring in the practice yard. 

She evades her opponent's sword with little effort, bringing her own sharp blade to his throat before he even sees her move. “Told you there was nothing to worry about.” 

_Show off._

Sansa passes orders to their men before descending the stairs. The castle begins to buzz with energy, even though they have been preparing for days to receive their King and the Dragon Queen.

Arya meets her near the gates, looking serene and more put together than Sansa has ever seen her. She's clean. Her new clothes not askew, ruffled or torn, fitting her perfectly instead. There's not a hair out of place, nor a drop of sweat present despite her sparring for the last hour. Oh, how she's changed. 

Not for the first time, Sansa wonders what Jon will think of their little sister. If she'll scare him the way she does her. Probably not, she was always his favorite. Remembering the vicious, bloody picture he made as he nearly beat Ramsey to death she's sure he’ll be proud of who she's become. 

“Is she with him?” Arya asks.

“Yes, they're riding side by side, leading her army.”

“How many?”

“More than you or I have ever seen.”

“He did it then.”

“Yes, but at what cost?”

“If we survive, does it make a difference?”

The gates swing open before Sansa can answer, and Arya gets her first glance at the arriving party. Her heart soars within her chest. He looks just like father. She missed them all, but not like Jon. Knowing she might one day see him again kept her going more often than not. Seeing the army he’s leading, she hopes he’ll be as proud of her as she is of him. 

_The King in the North._

She always knew he was the best of them.

Sansa’s irritation flairs again, seeing the small silvered haired woman at his side clearer than before. Even from this distance she can tell s beautiful just as Littlefinger said. “What if he’s married her?”

“What?”

“He bent the bloody knee, Arya. You read it yourself. Our other brother went to war, fell for a pretty face and then he died and we lost our home.”

She stares at her sister, but all she sees is Robb’s body strapped to a horse, Grey Wind’s head in place of his own. “I know, I saw him, remember?”

Sansa closes her eyes for a moment then looks at her sister with regret. “I’m sorry, but do you realize how many wars have started, how many people have died because of men falling for this woman or that?”

“Let him at least get inside and speak for himself before you condemn him. And even if he did marry her or plans to, that would secure our home not make us lose it, right? Do you really think Cersi plans to let us keep it?”

_No, of course she doesn't. But better an enemy you know, than one you don't._

“Just don't forget, Targaryens are not known for their reasonable minds. She may be madder than Cersi.”

Arya lets out an unladylike snort. “Jon? Fall for a madwoman? Maybe you’re the one who's mad.”

“You don't know him anymore, Arya. He’s different.”

“You said he wasn’t,” her sister bites back.

Bran’s lifeless voice cuts through the air, heavy and cold between them. “Arya is right. You worry for the wrong things, sister.”

Sansa cuts him a nervous look. Why in the seven hells did the gods see fit to bring back strangers in her siblings bodies? 

Then her attention is pulled elsewhere, the castle falling deathly silent as two great beasts cast their shadows over Winterfell.

 

\---

 

They’re waiting for them just as Jon knew they would be. His heart stops at the sight of his long lost siblings, his mount doing the same, causing the whole procession to halt just outside the gates. All that could be heard was the hush of falling snow. Even Drogon and Rhaegal were silent as the grey sky they were gliding through.

Realizing he won't move unless pushed, Dany reaches over and places her hand upon his thigh, rubbing it. The gesture does not go unnoticed by the Stark women who exchange curious glances with each other. Her warm touch breaks Jon from his shock, his liquid brown eyes meeting hers.

“My apologies, your grace, let me help you down,” he murmurs, minding his manners in front of the others and moving to dismount. 

“You will not,” Dany says, her voice firm. He freezes, halfway off his horse, startled until he meets her eyes and finds them staring back at him with nothing but love. His heart swells as it always does when she looks at him so. He wonders if he'll ever believe this extraordinary woman loves him. Then she smiles, that small secret smile that she reserves only for him. “Go to them. We’ll wait.”

His eyes begin to burn, he closes them for a moment, willing himself to keep his composure then gives his love a nod and his own secret smile, before dismounting. 

Then he only has eyes for his little sister. Gods, she's changed. All her sweetness as faded. The young girl she was has been replaced. Others may be fooled, but not Jon. Her solemn mask, her stance, the weapons she carries, seen and unseen. He sees what she's hiding. She has grown into everything she dreamed to be. A fighter, a warrior, a cold, deadly slayer of men.

Jon doesn't know whether to be happy for her, or weep. What she must have been through. It doesn't matter, she's alive. He’ll take her anyway he can get her.

He only takes two steps towards her before they both cannot contain their happiness anymore, their faces breaking into joy filled smiles. Arya launches herself at him and he catches her easily, spinning her around as he did when she was little. 

“Gods, I thought I’d never see you again,” he whispers into her hair, his voice gruff and full of emotion even to his own ears. “I’ve missed you so, little sister.”

Arya pulls back to look at him, smiling. “I knew I’d see you again. My brother never breaks his promises,” she says, and Jon once again hugs her fiercely.

“Tell me you're well. Please,” he begs, his pain and guilt welling up. He should have chosen love over duty, he should have left his post and searched the ends of the earth for her. For all of them.

She squeezes him tighter, trying to assure him. “I'm well, I promise.” 

He sets her down, taking her face in his hands and stares into her grey eyes willing them to give him peace. She tries to smile, to give him what he needs, to hide it all, but she sees the same as he surely does. Years of pain and suffering that cannot be erased.

Tears begin to fill his eyes and he lets out a choked whisper. “I'm so sorry.” 

She cannot tolerate it anymore. She moves his hands away and hugs him again. “Don’t. It's alright. We’re alive. We all had paths to take. They led us home again. That's all that matters.The pack survived.” 

Jon holds her tight, smiling once more as he places a kiss atop her head. “Aye, the pack survived. Half of us at least.”

Dany has to look away from the pair, overwhelmed by her own mixture of emotions. She's elated for Jon, to see his happiness at being back amongst his loving family, yet her heart is heavy. She has made a family for herself–her dragons, Missandei, Greyworm, even Tyrion, but as much as she cares for them she knows it isn't the same. Neither can she quell the hope that rises within her that Jon and his siblings may soon be her family. 

When she can bring herself to watch the reunion again, Jon and Arya are smiling and laughing over a skinny sword, both looking beyond happy. Jon hands the sword back to Arya, who gives it such an elegant flourish it appears as if she's dancing with it. Jon’s face is alight with pride as he watches her sheath it again. Then they walk to their siblings, side by side, their arms tight around the other, their smiles still firmly in place. They stop before Sansa, all three becoming more serious as Jon speaks to her quietly before placing a lingering kiss to her forehead. She is a strikingly beautiful girl with her fiery hair and crystal eyes. But it's her queenly composure that draws Dany's attention the most. Her trust may be hard won. 

The three turn their attention to their brother. While Jon’s smile is bright once more, Bran’s is quite placid, almost as if his childhood injury affected his entire body instead of just his legs. Dany easily picks up on Jon’s unease, even from this distance. He embraces his brother though, kissing his dark hair and after a small exchange, sets his eyes upon another man, this one round and merry. 

He must be Sam.

They throw themselves into a tight hug, laughing and smiling all the while. Then Sam pulls away, proudly showing Jon the woman and child standing just behind them. More smiles and words are exchanged before Jon runs his hand over the little boy's blonde head, then tickles him under the chin. The sight is almost more than Dany can endure and still keep her mask in place. 

Thankfully, Jon turns his attention back to her, striding towards her, his joy making him look younger, and more beautiful than she's ever seen him. She cannot hold back her own joy at seeing him so, though she tries not to let it show too much as he raises his arms to help her down from her mount. 

As soon as he has her on her feet, Missandei begins her usual announcement. Dany cuts her off with a shake of her head, surprising her whole entourage. She sighs and rolls her eyes at them, before looking up at Jon and taking his arm. “Jon can introduce me. There's no need to be so formal, I'm not here to intimidate his family.”

He smiles down at her, his dark eyes holding the warmth she has grown so fond of and places his other hand over hers before leading her carefully through the snow and mud to his family. Stopping only a foot or two before them, he clears his throat and Dany has to hold back her amusement feeling his hand trembling atop hers. His nervousness is so endearing. 

“Your Grace–”

She nudges him with her elbow. 

“Daenerys, I’d like you to meet my family. My sisters, Sansa and Arya. My brother, Bran. And this is my friend, Sam and his family, Gilly and little Sam. Everyone, this is Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.”

She releases his arm, moving to greet Sansa who immediately bows. 

“Your Grace, welcome to Winterfell.”

Dany nods respectfully, keeping what she hopes is a friendly smile in place. “Thank you, Lady Stark. I'm pleased to be here and to meet you all. Jon has told me many stories on our journey. I feel as if I know you already and hope you can forgive me for keeping him from home for so long.”

The stately red head nods, though her small smile could still be called pleasant. “We look forward to getting to know you, Your Grace.” 

_Yes, this one will be hard won, indeed._

Arya, true to the picture Jon painted of her, steps forward thrusting out her hand for Dany to shake, a mischievous smile quirking up the corners of her mouth. “Please to meet you, Your Grace.” 

Only startled for a moment, Dany takes her hand shaking it firmly as she smiles in return. “And, I, you, Lady Arya.”

“Oh, I’m no lady, Your Grace. Arya will do. You're dragons are amazing,” she says, raising her eyes to the sky, watching them circle. “Do you ride them?”

Jon sniffs behind her, no doubt rolling his eyes and Dany knows that Arya will be her favorite, just as she is his. Genuinely smiling at the young girl she gives her a nod. “Thank you. And, yes, I ride the black one, Drogon.”

Arya’s eyes sparkle with excitement. “I can't wait to see that.”

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Dany murmurs looking to Jon. He sighs, a reluctant smile upon his handsome face, but nods all the same. 

Sansa and Arya exchange another look. Did the queen actually ask Jon’s permission? And his face. Has he ever looked at anyone the way he looks at her? 

Dany steps over to Bran then. He certainly can't bow, but he doesn't nod either, only pinning her with a pair of familiar solemn, dark eyes, yet ones filled with much more mystery than his brother's. “Your Grace, it is nice to finally meet you. There is much for us to discuss.”

Not sure what to make of him, Dany gives him a tight smile. “Of course. I'm looking forward to it.” 

She turns her eyes to Sam. He bows his rotund body, rising with a beaming smile. One that fills her with guilt. Jon was not pleased when she confessed her judgement on Sam’s father and brother. She's not looking forward to wiping away Sam’s smile when the time comes to confess to him. 

“Please to meet you, Your Grace. I knew your uncle, Maester Aemon well. He’d be so pleased to see you here with Jon,” he blurts out, then blushes brightly, shaking his head at himself while laughing nervously.

“I’d love to hear all about him sometime,” Dany says, hoping to ease his embarrassment.

As Sam introduces her to Gilly, the rest of her entourage dismounts and makes their own introductions. Lord Tyrion heading straight to his lady wife. 

“It is good to see you well and where you rightfully belong, Lady Sansa,” he greets her, placing a kiss on her hand.

Sansa’s hard edges soften for the first time meeting the man she once married again. She curtsies. “I'm also pleased to see you well, my Lord. Welcome to our home.” 

Tyrion makes sure everyone knows everyone, then Sansa begins giving orders to the staff to take care of their guests. Dany does the same for her Unsullied and Dothraki. They’ll be stationed outside the walls. The relief in Sansa’s demeanor at hearing they arrived with their own provision isn't missed. 

“I would never burden your people to provide for such large armies, my Lady,” Dany assures her. 

Sansa’s smile is so tight and uncomfortable, Dany knows she's slightly offended, but doing her best to hide it. “We would have done our best to provide, your Grace, but we thank you for coming prepared,” she says, leading them into the castle. 

“Where is everyone? I expected the Lords here.” Jon asks, his tone edged with worry. 

“They'll be here tomorrow,” Sansa tells him. “I thought it best for all of you to have a good night's sleep before having to deal with them. And it's probably best we have a plan before we do.” She stares at her brother, eyes cold as the snow that covers the ground. Dany doesn't miss the muscles bunching in Jon’s jaw as he clenches his teeth before giving her a firm nod. 

He’d told her of all his siblings, his relationship with Sansa was the most fraught with tension. She’d apologized for her unfair treatment of him when they were children, but still challenged him on a regular basis. Just as she was now. 

Jon stops, looking down at Dany. “Would you like to rest for a bit? Have a hot bath and something to eat before getting started?” Then his eyes dart past her, his brows drawing together tightly.

She turns and sees Sam pushing Bran away from them. Why is he leaving? They haven't spoken in years.

“He’s different now. He doesn't say much, mostly keeps to himself in the godswood, or to his rooms,” Sansa tells them. 

“He’ll find you soon, when he knows you aren't busy,” Arya adds.

Jon shakes off his disappointment, looking back towards Dany, eyebrows raised in question. 

She's fine, she survived the red waste and countless days riding through the great grass sea. They were much worse than the trip from White Harbor, but she knows Jon needs time with his family, to explain things. “A hot bath sounds wonderful, thank you, Your Grace.” 

Sansa calls over several maids who had been waiting in the shadows. “Please escort the Queen and her party to their rooms. Draw baths and have food brought for them.” 

“Thank you, Milady,” Dany tells her. She stares a moment too long at Jon, wanting nothing more than to make him follow her so she can ease the tension she sees forming in him. The crease is still in his brow and his jaw and shoulders are too tight. His eyes beg her to stay and go all at once. Tonight, she decides, even though they discussed sleeping separately for awhile so as not to shock the whole castle. 

_To hell with their opinions. If he needs her, she'll be there._

Giving them both a rigid smile, she turns to follow the maids, Missandei, Varys, and Tyrion following close behind. 

 

\---

 

Jon is left in the great hall with his sisters. He’s fidgeting. He knows he needs to stop, but he can't seem to help it. The looks they're giving him make him want to spill all his secrets. 

_Be the King, Jon._

“How are things here?” he asks them, before they can start in on him. “Is there anythin I need to know that you didn't send with a raven?”

The sisters share a look. It's shifty, one that speaks volumes and reminds him of someone who always makes his blood boil.

“Where is your shadow?” he asks Sansa. “It's kinda odd he wasn't around to preen in front of a new Queen.”

Arya smiles, it's a tiny thing hiding in the corners of her mouth, just a quick spark in her eye. She rocks on her feet, hands clasped behind her. “I slit his throat just over a fortnight ago.” She tilts her head towards the front of the hall. “Right over there.”

That's when he notices it. A new stain upon the stones. A large one. For some reason he doesn't feel as shocked as he should. He's more disappointed really, he would have liked to see that slimy bastard meet his end, even at the hands of his sisters.

“Care to tell me what happened?”

Her serene mask firmly in place Sansa meets his eyes. “It was him all along. He betrayed our family.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s the reason we all left home. He had Jon Arryn poisoned. He tricked Aunt Lysa into doing it. Had her send the message to mother. It set everything into motion. Robert choosing father. Father accepting. Me and Arya leaving, you having to go to the wall. Then he betrayed father with the Lannisters, which caused Robb to go to war. Bran and Rickon had to flee, mother and Robb died. All of it was because of him.”

“He almost had her believing I had come to kill her,” Arya says, “That I wanted to take Winterfell from her, and me believing she had turned against us. If it wasn't for Bran, you might be short two sisters.”

Jon snarls, his eyes turning to slits as he paces the hall. “I should've kill him in the crypts like I wanted to.” He turns back, looking at Sansa. “I'm sorry, I never should’ve left you alone with him.” 

Her fire kissed hair catches all the light as she shakes her head. “We took care of it. Protected our pack and our home.”

Jon is filled with a churning mixture of pride and guilt. And something else. Do they really need me? What good is a king who can't even protect his own siblings? Leaves them to the vultures?

Dany's child falling from the sky splits his memory open, his screams chilling his blood, the Night King's eyes piercing his soul while the army of the dead close in.

_You knew she could take care of herself, and your home. She did, they all did._

He nods to them both, hoping they can see how proud he is of them. “The pack survives.” 

They smile softly, repeating his words. “The pack survives.”

“I’ll leave you to talk business, make sure things are handled outside,” Ayra says. 

Jon steps towards her, something close to fear in his eyes. “You’ll come back? Bring Bran with you? I need to know.” 

His little sister just smiles and nods her head before leaving. 

“She's as strange and annoying as ever,” Sansa grumbles. 

Jon huffs, a wry smile tugging at his lips as he stares at the floor, fiddling with his gloves. “Has she told you anythin? How she made it back?”

“Only a little. She doesn't seem to want to talk about it anymore than either of us do.”

“That's what I was afraid of.”

“She'll probably tell you if you ask.”

“I'm not sure I want to know.”

Sansa sighs. “We should at least try to understand each other I suppose.”

“Does that mean you're going to listen to me about Daenerys?” Jon asks, hopeful.

It falls on deaf ears. “You bent the knee. I don't know what else I need to know.”

Jon huffs through gritted teeth, closing his eyes. Why must she always fight him? “How about why I did?”

Sansa snorts. “I think that’s pretty obvious.”

“Is it?”

“To me it is.” She turns away, hugging her arms around herself. “How could you? After what happened with Robb? Did you learn nothing from his mistakes?”

“Aye, I did. And more besides. If you would calm down and listen–”

She spins on him, eyes burning. “Calm down? You’ve given up the North for a pretty face!”

“Do not,” Jon warns with a deathly calm. “You know nothing of her.”

“I know enough! I know her father burned–”

“Am I interrupting?” Dany asks, her voice as smooth as cream as she walks in. 

Sansa's eyes still burn like blue flames, but she holds her tongue. Jon turns to face her, shame coloring his cheeks, sending his eyes to the floor. The dragon inside Dany begins to wake seeing him so. She will not have it. 

She grips his clenched fist, giving it a squeeze, looking up into his downturned face. “Go find your brother and sister, you’ve barely been able to see them. Lady Stark and I can get to know one another.”

He shakes his head, brows furrowed over his worried dark eyes. “I don't think–”

She cuts him off with only a look. 

Heaving a great sigh, his eyes close for a bit. But he nods when he opens them, then throws a warning glare towards Sansa before leaving the room. 

The fiery red head spins on her heals and stalks towards the fire, her anger overriding her usually respectful persona. “You must tell me how you do it.”

“And that would be?”

“Make kings heal like dogs.”

It takes every ounce of strength Dany has not to cross the room and slap this silly child. She stays her hand, but not her anger. Before she can unleash it, Sansa is spitting more venom, this time having the courage to face her.

“How long did it take you to make a fool of him? A week? Or was it only a day? Did he fight at all before kneeling at your pretty feet?”

Dany closes the space between them, her strides calm and purposeful, hands clasped at her waist. Sansa Stark is about to meet her Queen. “Jon Snow has never kneeled before me, nor will he. I would never allow it.” 

Sansa's confusion is too much for her to hide. Her mouth opens, then closes again.

Dany does not soften. “And if you dare call him a fool once more I will have your tongue. You will not disrespect him. He is your King, and he has earned that title better than any man I know.”

Sansa shakes her head, brows furrowed between her pretty blue eyes. “But he’s not my king anymore. He said he bent the knee, pledged himself to you, publicly. In front of Cersi no less. He gave up everything for you, his title, our home, our people.”

“He did no such thing. If you had let him speak you would know this. Yes, pledged himself to me, to fight for me, with me, but he did it for you, your family, and your people. He hasn't given up anything. We made an alliance so that we could save you all, together. And he does not know it yet, but I plan on pledging myself to him, in front of his Lords to do the same.”

“What? Queens don't do that.”

“This Queen does.”

“Why?”

“For many reasons. I have seen with my own eyes what lies beyond The Wall, what is coming for us all, what it's capable of taking. What your brother, your King, is trying to save us all from. And I’ve seen him for what he is. Know him and his heart. There is no man better than him. He deserves his title and my loyalty, everyone's loyalty. I didn't trust him at first and it caused the death of my child. I will not make that mistake again, and I will not stand by and let anyone disrespect him, sister or not. Do you understand?”

Speechless, Sansa can only nod. 

“I am not here to take your home from you. I'm here to help you keep it. When this great war is over, I want his home to still be standing. For his family to be safe and well inside it. And I know it will be his wish for you be our Warden, but if you're not up for it, perhaps Arya will be.”

“What? You said he was still King, why would he, or you need a Warden?”

They haven't discussed marriage, and suddenly Dany wonders why, but it's not enough to stop the words from spilling from her lips. “Because he will not only be King in the North, but in the other six kingdoms as well. He’ll need someone he trusts here to watch over things when he can't be here.”

Sansa can't stop herself. She laughs. “Jon? King of the Seven Kingdoms?” The fire in the Dragon Queen’s eyes ends her laughter as quickly as it started. “You are going to marry? Make him your King?”

_He doesn't know it yet, but yes. Yes, I am._

She speaks the only truth she can for now. “In our hearts he is already my King, and I, his Queen. When the wars are over, we'll make it official.”

“And he’s agreed to this? He didn't want to rule the North, I can't imagine he wants six more. And he's a bas–”

“Do not call him that.”

Sansa is once again stuck speechless, this time by shame. Realization soon overrides it. She sits down hard. “You truly love him, don't you?”

Dany swallows, her eyes darting around. She's never told anyone save Jon. It feels almost wrong to say the words to someone else. “Yes, I do. So much so, I believe I would give up everything for him, if he wished it. Thankfully, he doesn't.”

Sansa's eyes widen as she shakes her head and worries her lip. Her reaction sets Dany's teeth on edge. “Do you not think him worthy of someone’s love? Is that it?’

“What? No, your Grace! Of course not! I love Jon, I do. He’s good. He always was.”

“He was the best of us. Still is,” Arya says startling them both with her sudden presence not two feet away from them.

_How did she? How long has she been there? She's definitely a tricky little thing._

Dany smiles at her as soon as her shock wears off. “He is the best man I know.”

Arya smiles too, there's no mischief hiding in it this time either. “He loves you. I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.”

“No one has ever come close to looking at me the way he does.” 

“Never hurt him, your Grace. I really like you, I’d hate to have to slit your throat.”

Sansa finds her feet. “ARYA!” 

Dany only has eyes for her love’s sly little sister. Her queenly mask firmly in place she stares at her with one eyebrow raised. Cold, grey eyes meet sparking violet, neither backing down. 

_Oh, yes. She's my favorite._

“Hurting him would be like taking a knife to my heart. I have no plans to do either.”

Arya’s smile returns. She nods at Dany then turns on her sister. “He’s our King. He’s brought us the most powerful ally we could hope for. Armies thousands strong. Weapons. Dragons for bloody sake. Stop being a brat and listen to them.” Her speech given, she turns on her heel and glides from the room, not making a sound. 

“I'm sorry, your Grace. It’s hard to trust anyone after all the betrayal. We’ve lost so much. Not just our family, but our people…” Sansa says, finally dropping the last of her walls, and Dany sees only a frightened girl who desperately wants to protect her family. This she wolf is not so different from her it seems.

Dany closes the distance between them, taking the girl's hand in her own. “I know the sharp cut of betrayal well, Milady. I swear to you, I’m here to make sure you don't lose anything, or anyone else ever again.”


	5. My kin bold and boyful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Stark siblings talk and Dany meets Ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got it in just under the wire :) 
> 
> Since this is my spin on things I'm making a few minor changes. I wanted my Starklings and Jon and Dany to have a few days of relative peace before the shit hit the fan so I've decided Bran hasn't seen the Night King and Viserion take down the wall yet. He does know Jon's a Targeryen though, but that bomb will be dropped next chapter. For now it's just a few small ones. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy. Can't wait to hear what you guys think!

Jon leaves the fiery women behind, hoping they can reach an understanding. He trusts Dany, knows she loves him and she knows he loves his family. She has a good heart, she won't forget the stories Jon has told her of his sister’s trials. She'll make it work. 

Unfortunately it's time to learn of the trials his other siblings have faced. Not seeing Arya in the courtyard, he heads to the godswood. Even if Bran isn't there, some time kneeling in prayer can't hurt. Gods know they need all the help they can get. 

It isn't Bran he finds first, but someone he’s just as happy to see.

Ghost comes slowly through the falling snow, red eyes bright. He isn't cautious as usual, instead nuzzling and licking Jon just as he did as a pup. Several quiet whines even leave his throat. He knows as well as Jon things are changing, that everything is balanced on the edge of a sword and could fall either way. Every moment counts now. 

Tears once again threatening to spill, Jon buries his hands in the wolf's thick fur giving him a good hug. “I missed you too.” Ghost calms a bit, but doesn't back away. He sniffs his master from head to toe, making Jon laugh at his close inspection. “I'm alright, Ghost.” The wolf centers in on Jon's chest, bumping his nose repeatedly into the boiled leather covering his heart. Hard enough Jon stumbles back several times, still laughing. “What's gotten into you, boy?”

“He knows you’ve opened your heart to her. He’s happy for you.”

Jon spins around, Bran’s mellow voice sending a surprising bolt of fear through him. He can only stare. This strange man in front of him wears his brother's face, but the happy boy he once was isn't to be found. Something tells Jon he never will be again.

“I had to become someone else just like you did.”

Those heavy words said in such a hollow tone do nothing to quiet Jon’s unease. 

“What happen to you, Bran? Why'd you go beyond the wall? If you’d stayed with Sam he would've kept you safe till I got back. At least two of us could've been together.”

“I couldn't. There were things I needed to do. I did see you though.”

“What? When?”

“At the windmill when you were with the Wildlings. Rickon was still with us then. And at Caster’s Keep. You were fighting the men that captured us.”

Jon’s not able to hide the hurt he feels. He would've given anything to see him again, any of them. To know Bran was that close, not once, or twice, but three times yet chose to leave without a word hurts more than he cares to admit. He feels as small and hopeless as he did when he was a boy, trembling under the hateful stare of Catelyn Stark's cold eyes. He had thought his little brother cared for him more than that. There had to be a sound reasons, surely. And he needs to know them. 

“Bran, if you were that close, why didn't you let me know? Why'd you leave three times without seeing me?”

There’s no emotion on his brother's face. Nothing to show he senses Jon’s hurt. Or anything else for that matter. “The wildlings would’ve killed us all if we had shown ourselves at the windmill and you would've never let me go the other times. Correct?” he asks.

Jon doesn't answer, there's no need. He would've locked him in Castle Black and never let him out of his sight again. Maybe he could've saved him from the emptiness that seems to have taken him.

He sighs and shakes his head. There's no point in focusing on the pain. “The men at Caster's took you?”

Bran nods, looking through Jon, seeing something that's not there. “The day before. They hurt Hodor, tied us up. They were about to hurt Meera when you and your men arrived.” His hazy eyes meet Jon’s. “You saved us and you didn't even know it. We were able to get away because of you. By the way, I killed one of your men. He was betraying you, and me.”

“Who? An how’d you manage that?”

“A sellsword named Locke. He was older than you. Pale, with a dark beard. I warged into Hodor and broke his neck.”

Jon’s mouth falls open. It takes him a moment to find his words remembering the gruesome picture of Locke’s body layin in the snow. “You're a warg? One that can control other people?” He didn’t know such a thing was possible? He’s not sure if it scares him or not, quite honestly. 

“Yes, and the Three Eyed Raven.”

“I don't know what that is, Bran. Like a greenseer?” he asks, trying to understand.

“More than that. I can see things from the past. Things that are happening now, and some of what will happen. It all started once I woke up.” 

“I'm sorry.”

Bran shows the first bit of emotion Jon has seen from him. Confusion. “Why would you be sorry?”

“I should’ve been here to protect you an Rickon. To bring our sister's back home. I should've kept you all safe.”

“No, Jon. Your path was, and is too important for you to stray from, even for us.”

Now it's Jon's turn to be confused. “What do you mean?”

“I knew I’d find you here.” 

He jumps as Arya appears beside him as silently as Ghost did. He can't help but smile. It's not even been an hour since he saw her last, but she is such a sight for sore eyes. And maybe talking to her won't be as cryptic and unsettling as conversations with Bran. 

“Everyone is gathering in the hall. They'll be waiting for us,” she tells them. 

“That didn't take long,” Jon sighs. He is so tired. What he wouldn't give to be back on that ship with Dany, tucked away from everyone and everything, but there's nothing for it. He turns back to Bran. “Would you like to join us?”

His brother shakes his head, staring through the ghostly trunk of the weirwood tree. “Maybe later.”

Jon looks to Arya for help, but she shrugs her shoulders then begins the trek back to the great hall. He watches Bran for a moment longer, his heart aching for the loss of the happy boy he once was. Ghost finally nudges him in the shoulder waking him from his melancholy. Leaving Bran behind, they follow Arya's tracks through the snow. 

 

\---

 

All of them have sat down to eat. Jon and his sisters to his right, then Sam and Gilly. Daenerys sits on his left, her council beside her. The hall is quiet save for the sounds of a dozen set of jaws chewing. They’ve already discussed the journey from White Harbor, the mission beyond the wall, and the meeting at the Dragon Pit. Sansa has filled them in on the murmurs from the lords they’ll face come the morrow. They’re all relieved when she tells them she kept Jon's pledge to Daenerys to herself and her siblings. 

They all hope to keep that war for another day.

Tomorrow, Jon will hold the focus where it belongs–on the Night King and the war at their door. His brother and sisters will stand staunchly behind him, as will Daenerys and her council. The lords will either fight with them, or do their best to run and hide. 

None of them have much of a choice anymore. Death is coming for them all. Fighting it is all they can do. 

Jon notices Dany hasn't really eaten, more or less picking at her food. He leans forward a bit catching Missandei’s attention. They have a silent conversation with their eyes, glancing back and forth between Dany, her plate, and each other. 

It didn't take them long to become quiet allies, their love for their queen bonding them along with similar reserved temperaments. 

Missandei touches Dany's arm. “Is everything alright, your Grace?” she asks, her voice as soft as silk, like always. 

“Hmmm?” Dany pulls herself from her thoughts, looking at her friend with a weary smile. “I'm fine. Just tired I think.”

Jon slips his hand under the table and over her thigh. “Would you prefer somethin else? You're probably not use to our food. I can have them cook you anythin you'd like.” 

Dany shakes her head. “No, I don't want anyone going to the trouble. I'm fine really. I do believe I’ll turn in for the night though, if we’ve covered everything we need to,” she says, looking to him, then each of her council. 

No one seems to find anything else to discuss much to everyone's relief. 

“Would you like me to escort you to your chambers?” Jon asks. 

She finds his hand with her own and gives it a squeeze. “Thank you, but you're still eating and I'm sure your family wants some more time with you and you them. Enjoy it, tomorrow will come too soon.” 

They trade a silent farewell with a lingering look, both intending on seeing the other soon, then Dany and Missandei take their leave. It doesn't take long for the rest to follow suit.

 

\---

 

It's finally just the four of them, along with Ghost. They’ve sat here in this library before, many times, years ago doing their studies with Maester Luwin. The absence of him and their brothers is thick within the silent air filling the room. His sisters stare, one at the floor boards, the other at her hands. Their little brother sits across the room looking into dancing flames, as expressionless as a corpse, Ghost laying at his side. The fire crackles and pops. Jon shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

_It shouldn't be like this. It shouldn't be so hard._

For what seems like the hundredth time today, tears threaten to well in his eyes. He takes a deep swallow of wine to hopefully hold them off.  
He’s the oldest now, the head of their family. The Lord of Winterfell. The King in the North. He’s never felt more ill equipped. 

_Say something, dammit._

He clears his throat. “Sansa, thank you,” he says, his voice thicker than he’d hoped. She looks up at him, face expectant. He swallows another gulp of wine. “You did well preparin for our arrival, an takin care of things while I was away. I knew you would, but thank you all the same. I don't think I said so earlier.” 

Her usually cold blue eyes warm as she smiles slightly. “You're welcome. I tried to do what I thought you’d want. I missed you though, we all did.”

Bran is still a living statue by the fire, but Arya comes to life beside him, eyes winking with mischief. “I was quite put out when I got here only to find out you were off flirting with a queen.”

Jon huffs, rubbing the back of his suddenly warm neck. “I did not flirt. Not even once,” he defends himself. 

Both of his sisters roll their eyes. 

“I’ll have you know we hated each other at first.”

“Well, you sure don't now,” Arya gwaffs.

He laughs then, but it's quiet. “No, we don't.”

“You really love her,” Sansa says, her voice soft, thankfully holding no hostility. She could have asked, but they all know there was no need. 

“I'm that obvious?”

“Yes!” the girls both say at once. 

“And so is she,” Arya adds. “Your eyes go all melty when you look at each other. It's sickening,” she teases him.

Jon rolls his eyes at her this time.

Sansa reaches across the table and takes his hand. “I want to be happy for you, Jon. I do. But I'm scared.” 

She's been softer since her talk with Dany, he couldn't be more grateful. He needs her on their side.

He squeezes her fingers for a brief moment then lets go, running his hand down his face. “Trust me, I know. It was the last thing I meant to happen. I still have a hard time believin it did.”

“I'm glad it did,” Arya confesses, looking at her sister. “At least one of us gets to be happy.” She cuts her eyes back to Jon. “You deserve the best, and she’s obviously that. She has dragons! Is she like all the stories we read? Like Visenya and Rhaenys?”

He smiles at her, seeing a glimpse of the girl he once knew. “She's unlike anyone I’ve ever known. I wish I had time to tell you all the things she's done, been through, the people she's saved,” he tells Arya, then turns to Sansa. “I swear to you I didn't fall at her feet the second I saw her. Yes, she's beautiful, but it wasn't until she risked her life to save mine that I finally fell. And that was weeks after we met.”

“When you went to get the wight?” Arya asks.

He nods. “Even then it wasn't just that. She's not some mad, insane ruler like her father, she's not another Cersei either. She has a good heart an wants what's best for people. She doesn't care if you’re highborn, a slave, or a bastard. She just wants a better world for all of us.”

Sansa eyes him, folding her hands over the table and leaning forward. “I’m beginning to see that, but I have a feeling you left something out of that story earlier.”

Jon sighs, he’s done that too much today. “Some wights attacked me an we fell through the ice. I thought I'd died. Again,” he confesses. 

Arya grabs his arm, her brows gathered darkly over her grey eyes. “What you mean, again?” 

“What DO you mean,” Sansa corrects her just like old times. 

“Shut it!” Arya snaps, never taking her eyes or hand from Jon. “Tell me what you meant.”

His gaze flicks to Sansa. She shakes her head. “It wasn't my story to tell.” 

He looks back at his little sister, wishing he didn't have to tell her, but knowing she won't leave it till he does. He puts his hand over hers. “You know I left the Night’s Watch?” She nods. “You know you can't do that until you die?” Her scowl darkens. He lets her go, then works the buckles and straps of his armor loose, pulling it off, leaving him in just his tunic. He lifts it, bearing his scars to them. 

“Oh, Jon,” Sansa gasps. He looks over at her. Her hand covers her mouth and there's tears already spilling from her eyes. She had hear the story, but hadn't seen the evidence.

But Arya, she's on her feet, rage coloring her face. “Tell me their names. All of them,” she orders.

Jon covers himself again, hoping to calm her. “It doesn't matter who it was.”

“It does matter,” she yells. “Tell me their names.”

“What do you need their names for?”

“For her list,” Sansa whispers. 

He frowns. “What list?”

“Our little sister has a list of names. One of all the people she plans to kill. Or has already. Tell him, Arya.”

“Not until he tells me their names.”

Jon takes her arm and pulls her back down. “You don't need their names, they're dead. I hung them myself.”

Arya eyes him, sceptical. “All of them? You swear?”

“I swear.”

Just like that, she goes back the the serene girl that met him at the gates. “So you died? Who brought you back? A priest from that Lord of Light?”

Jon feels like his head is spinning she’s changing so quickly. He shakes it off and tries to focus. “How do you know about any of that?”

She shrugs, then starts picking at her nails. “About a year after, the Band of Brothers took me and some of my friends. They had a priest that brought one of their men back seven times. I saw it once with my own eyes. He’d been nearly cut in half.”

“Ser Beric?” 

“Yeah, that's him.”

 _Why in the seven hells didn't Beric tell him he knew his sister?_ “Not until recently. He went with me beyond the wall. His priest, Thoros died after a dead bear attacked us. It was a priestess that brought me back.”

Arya’s brows knit back together. “What was her name?”

“Melisandre.”

Now she's glaring. “That bitch took Gendry. I have no doubt she murdered him too.”

“Wait? Gendry Waters? Robert's bas–”

Eyes wide as saucers, Arya slaps her hand down on the table making Sansa jump. “You know him too? When did you see him last?”

“A few weeks ago. He should be on his way here. I actually thought he’d already be here.”

“He’s alive? He’s coming here? Why's he coming here?”

“He went with us too. Davos found him in King’s Landing an brought him back to Dragonstone. He wanted to help, we needed it, so I let him. He save our asses by runnin back to get a raven to Daenerys. How do you know him?”

She's smiling now, not much, but a little, looking through him, remembering. “He saved me, I saved him. We took care of each other and Hot Pie for awhile. Till the Brotherhood and that witch anyway. I thought he was dead.”

“He must have thought you were too, he didn't mention you. Probably thought I didn't want to talk about my dead sister.”

“Probably.”

She's goes quiet for a bit, but Jon presses on. “So tell me about this list, little sister.” 

“It’s a list of all the people that have hurt our family. I’ve marked off most of them. Killed them one by one,” she says her voice as level as a sword. “I started it after father was killed. I was there, like Sansa. I saw Robb too, what they did to him.”

Jon suddenly wishes he hadn't had so much wine. It's threatening to return to his cup, his stomach a churning pit of fire. He doesn't believe he could've survived seeing their father and brother murdered, but his sweet sisters... He grabs her, pulling her into a hug and holding her tightly. “I'm sorry, I’m so sorry.”

She holds onto him just as tight. “Joffery died before I could get to him, but I killed the Frey’s. Every last one of them,” she says, not a trace of regret in her muffled voice.

He pushes her back to see her face. “All of them? How?” 

“Does it matter?”

“Just tell him, Arya. Or show him the faces. It's easier to believe that way,” Sansa mutters. 

Jon looks between them, more confused than ever. “What's she talkin about?”

Arya pulls away, sitting up and grasping the hilt of Needle, rubbing it affectionately. “After I left The Hound to die–”

“You killed him too?” Sansa asks, an edge of something to her voice. Pain, maybe?

“He’s not dead. He almost got all of us killed beyond the wall though,” Jon tells them.

Sansa's shoulders sag and Arya looks between them, mouth open, brows scrunched. “Have we been with all the same people this whole time? Just never together.”

“Yes,” Bran says, making them all turn to look at him. They wait for him to say more, but he doesn't. 

Arya cuts her eyes at Sansa. “He said he saved you once in King’s Landing. Was he lying?”

Her sister shakes her head. “No. He did. Three men were going to rape me, then probably murder me. He killed them instead. He offered to take me to Robb and mother. I should've went with him. I was so stupid.”

“Well, he didn't offer me anything. He just took me,” Arya says. “He tried to get me to them, but we were too late, they were already dead when we got there. He even tried to take me to Aunt Lysa, but she died the day before we got to the Vale.”

“Wait, what? You were there? Why didn't you come to the castle? I was there then.”

“With her dead he knew he wouldn't get his money for me, so we left.”

“I can't believe we've all been so close to finding each other. Makes things seem all the crueler,” Sansa whispers. 

All three share a grieved look, then Jon flicks his hand at Arya. “Finish your story about the list.”

She sighs at him, but carries on. “I found a ship hoping it would take me to Eastwatch. I thought I could get to you from there. But it wasn't going north. It was going to Braavos.”

“You went to Braavos?” 

“Yes, to the House of Black and White.”

“The house of what?”

“Ever heard of the many faced god?” Jon shakes his head. “The faceless men?” Again, he shakes his head. “We’re assassins. Killers who wear someone else's face.”

“What?”

“She's telling the truth,” Sansa says, causing Jon to jerk around and look at her. “I’ve seen them. She has a bag of full of dead people's faces. Walter Frey’s is one of them.” 

Jon feels the color drain from his own face, his stomach turning dangerously. He suspected, but this? No, no stop. It doesn't matter, she's alive and home where she belongs. That's what's important.

“Do you hate me, like she does?” she asks him, nodding towards Sansa.

Sansa huffs. “I don't hate you, Arya. You just scare me sometimes,” she tells her, then smirks, “but you did when we were little too.”

Arya gives her a weak smile before looking to Jon again. “I never scared you.”

He shakes his head and smiles a bit. “No, you didn't.” He reaches up and runs his hand over her hair, stopping to hold her cheek. “And I don't hate ya. I never will. Neither of ya. You're my sisters. Bran's my brother. We’re family. We've all done things to survive that we probably never thought we'd do. We've all taken our revenge on those that hurt us. You're no different than the rest of us.” 

Arya’s eyebrows raise. “I have no doubt you’ve killed your fair share, but her?”

Jon looks at Sansa who shrugs, then back to his youngest sister. “Ask her to tell you about Ramsey's hounds one day.”

“There wasn't much left for them after you were done with him,” Sansa says with an unladylike snort.

Jon smiles, but it's grim. “Aye, I got my pound in.” 

“More like pounding,” Sansa says, her smirk fading. 

They exchange a long, solemn look before Jon nods his head. “I think that's enough for one night. Today was long, tomorrow will be longer.” He stands, kissing each of them on the forehead, then moves towards the door after grabbing his armour. “I'm glad we're all back home,” he tells them.

The girls smile and Bran actually nods and bids him goodnight. Ghost rises to feet and joins his master as he leaves the room.

“Jon.” Sansa stops him before he’s gone. He turns back, eyebrows raised. “I let her have my rooms. I took yours.” 

“You little bitch,” Arya seethes, jumping to her feet and his defense. “He’s the king and you put him beneath you in his own castle?”

Sansa rolls her eyes at her sister's anger. “No, you idiot. I thought he'd prefer to share the room with her.”

Arya sits back down with a thump. “Oh. Well, alright then.”

Jon smiles, shaking his head. It's good to know somethings haven't changed. 

 

\---

 

He knocks at his door before opening it so as not to startle Dany, then sticks his head in the door. 

She smiles at him from where she's bundled under the furs of his bed. “You can come in, silly. There's nothing under here you haven't seen many times before.”

He looks at the floor, smiling too. “I’ve brought someone I want you to meet.”

“At this hour? I'm barely dressed,” she fusses, pulling the furs to her chin.

“I don't think he'll mind.” He opens the door all the way and steps inside. Ghost slips past him like a whisper.

Dany sits up as if something's yanked her there. “Oh, Jon. He’s… he’s beautiful,” she breathes out so softly he barely hears her.

“Dany, meet Ghost, my direwolf.” He leans down and whispers in Ghost's ear. “This is Dany. She's our queen. I want you to protect her from now on. She comes first, alright? I love her.”

Red eyes meet ones of coal, understanding filling them. Ghost goes to his new charge who’s on her feet now. Dany stands stone still as he begins sniffing her from top to bottom, her eyes wide and full of wonder. Then she reaches out a tentative hand, running it over his snow white fur. 

It fills Jon with something he doesn't quite have a name for seeing them together. _Did she feel this as he stood before Drogon? This affection. This bond he swore he’d never find with another._

Still petting Ghost as he nuzzles into her stomach, Dany turns to Jon, her face alighting with a beaming smile. “He’s wonderful.” 

“He’s not a dragon, but aye, he is.” 

“Do you think we’ll ever stop finding these connec– Oofffhh!” 

Ghost nudges her hard enough she falls back onto the bed, sitting down hard. His huge paws drape across her lap, his nose buried in her stomach. Dany giggles despite being pinned down by a giant wolf that could easily kill her if he wished.

“Ghost! Get off her,” Jon orders him, throwing his armour over the chest and heading around the bed. He doesn't listen to him, whining now as he rubs his face against her stomach. 

Dany cuts Jon a nervous smile. “Is he normally so affectionate?”

Jon’s frown is answer enough, but still he says, “No, never. He was a bit with me today though. I think maybe he knows.”

“Knows what?” she whispers, looking down at Ghost, her voice shaking a bit.

Jon won't have her being afraid, so he grabs Ghost with both hands by the scruff of the neck and pulls him off her. “Down Ghost. You're supposed to protect her, not scare her. Go lay down,” he tells him, pointing to the fireplace. 

Ghost whines, his eyes pleading as they gaze at Dany. He looks more like a puppy than the great beast he is. 

“Ghost. Go lay down,” Jon orders him again. 

The wolf sways on his giant paws, torn between them. Dany’s mothering instincts kick in. She reaches out and strokes his face, smiling at him. “I'm fine, Ghost. Jon will take care of me. Go sleep now.” He licks her hand then does as he’s told, slinking across the room on silent paws and lays down in front of the fire with a soft huff. 

She looks up to see his surly master still scowling at him. She takes his hand in hers, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. “Did you come to wish me goodnight, or to stay?” 

Jon shifts until he facing her. He smiles, the one she knows is only for her, his charcoal eyes staring at her lovingly. He reaches out, brushing his fingers over her cheek, then tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, I either sleep here with you, out in the tents with the men, or I suppose I could find a table somewhere. Sansa took my rooms. These are usually hers.”

“With me then,” Dany laughs, pulling him down. He easily twists them so his full weight doesn't crush her and they both fall onto the thick furs. They spend the next several minutes reacquainting, lips dancing and hands tracing curves or buried in silky hair. 

“Mmmm, I missed you, and this,” she hums, tucking herself into his chest. 

He wraps his arms around her, breathing her in, letting her closeness ease his frayed nerves. “Aye. I’ve ached to be back in our cabin on that boat all day,” he admits. 

“Me too.”

He pulls back, brushing her hair from her beautiful face. “Thank you, for whatever you said to Sansa.”

Smiling she turns her head and kisses his palm. “She's worried for her family and your people, that's all. As she should be. But I think we found some common ground.”

“Aye, she'll soon see you, just as I do.” 

She smirks up at him. “Well, maybe not quite as much as you do.” 

He laughs quietly, his fingers running through her silver strands. “Arya loves you already. Once she sees you ride Drogon, she'll worship the ground you walk on.” 

“I like her too. She reminds me of myself not so long ago, threatening people who dare to threaten those important to me.”

Jon pulls back, shocked and maybe a bit queasy. “She didn't.”

Dany laughs now. “She did. I believe she said she’d hate to slit my throat, but she would if I hurt you.”

“Seven fuckin hells,” Jon groans, rolling over and covering his face with his hands. “I'm sorry. I will have words with her. She'll never threaten you again.”

“There's no need. She loves you, just as I do. We understand each other.”

He sighs, closing his eyes and holding the hand she’s laid on his chest. “They’ve changed. So much. I hardly know them now. Arya’s some kind of terrifyin assassin who wears dead people's faces an Bran’s barely alive. I don't think he feels anythin anymore. Three times he could of come to me. He saw me twice with his own eyes, then turned an ran. An Sansa's her mother all over again.” 

“You’ve all been through so much. Time and circumstances change us all. You’ll learn to love them as they are, just as you did then,” she tries to soothe him.

Sighing, he rolls back over, stroking her cheek. “I'm sorry, I'm whinin. Are you feeling better?”

“I'm fine, my love. Just tired. You know we didn't get much rest on the road.” She runs her fingertips through his beard and kisses his full lips. 

“Alright. Time to rest then.” He stands up and goes across the room to add another log to the fire, stoking it to a nice roar. Petting Ghost, he returns to the bed, pulling off his tunic, then his boots and pants, leaving him in his small clothes. 

Dany stays curled into the furs watching him until he reaches for her. “Those too,” she says, flicking her fingers at his small clothes. 

“You're tired, love. I can wait.”

She raises her eyebrows, sitting up. “I'm not that tired and I can't.” 

Stripping completely, Jon crawls over her, his voice low and rough. “At your service, my queen.”


	6. After the raven has had his say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tryion gets cranky, Jamie shows up. The Northern Lords have to be dealt with and Bran drops a bomb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took me so long. Real life is to blame. I had this all written as the big reveal, but then I realized there were several things that hadn't happened that should have so it's probably different than you're expecting, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Be aware it ends in a cliffy, but it's not like you don't already know the big surprise :)

Jon wakes to a silent empty room, the bed cold beside him. She’s never been the one to rise first, he always wakes before her. Even when they were sleeping in the tent along the Kingsroad. Knowing something must be wrong, he’s on his feet and dressed in moments. 

He finds her in the courtyard, speaking with Grey Worm. Arya's there too, and Davos. Ghost is sitting at Dany's side. She looks like a little girl next to him. Especially dressed in the cloak she has on. Jon recognizes it immediately. It's his old one and it's too big for her even though it looks like Sansa must have shortened it before giving it to her. 

The sight makes Jon smile, she looks every bit a Northern Queen, dressed in furs, snow falling in her silver hair as she stands in her wintery castle with her direwolf proud at her feet. He likes seeing her this way, probably more than he should.

His sister notices him first, raising an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Look who's finally awake. Never thought you'd be a lazy king.”

“It's not that late,” he mutters, bumping her with his elbow, “and I'm not lazy, just more tired than I thought.” 

Davos coughs, while Grey Worm gives him a look that says he knows everything and nothing at once. Dany's smiling at him, that polite queenly one she uses when they aren't alone. Her violet eyes are twinkling though, full of memories from the night before as she strokes Ghost’s head. The direwolf’s eyes are heavy and filled with pleasure. 

Jon would roll his if seeing them together didn't fill him with so much happiness. 

“Trader,” he grunts at the wolf, then raises his eyes looking between Dany and Davos. “Everythin alright this mornin?” 

Davos answers first, after getting Dany’s approval. “Aye, Your Grace. All is well as can be, considerin. We've spoken to the smiths. They're to start makin weapons of the dragon glass this mornin.”

“An the armour we spoke of, for the queen and her dragons?”

“And for you too,” Dany reminds him. 

Jon nods. “Of course.” He doesn't think it'll matter, but if him being armoured helps her focus and keep herself safe, he’ll wear it.

“Aye, that too,” Davos confirms, “but it will take a bit longer. I spoke ta Sam last night, he thinks now we have the dragons we might be able ta make Valyrian steel. Weapons, an armour.”

 _Gods be good_. Valyrian steel armour. That would protect her and the dragons, even if the Night King threw more spears at them. They would just shatter like glass he bets. A little bit of hope trickles into his heart. She'll live. She'll be safe and so will her children. She won't have to grieve for another. 

_Bless Sam, he doesn't know how he’d make it without him._

He looks to her, asking silently what he's already asked aloud.

Dany knows it was a loaded question, he’s worried about her on top of everything else that's weighing on his shoulders. She'll fib this once, it's only their worries putting her stomach off. Men never let such things keep them from food. “Everything is fine. The men are taking care of themselves, and there's nothing new to report. So far it's all going according to plan. Sansa doesn't expect the Lords till early afternoon so Arya and I were going to see about the dragons.”

When he glances at his sister, she's grinning ear to ear. 

“Why don't you go break your fast then join us?” Dany suggests. 

“You’ve already eaten?” he asks.

Both women nod. 

“We can wait a bit longer,” Dany says, “Perhaps Arya will teach me a few things about how to handle a dagger until you're done?”

Arya does a little bow. “I’d be honored, Your Grace.” 

His conversation with Dany last night jumps to the forefront of Jon's mind. His smile melts away, turning to a scowl as he looks down at his little sister, arms crossed over his chest. 

Dany jerks her head slightly at Greyworm and Davos. Both take the hint and disappear. 

Arya soon feels her brother's eyes boring into her. She turns, eyebrows raising at his obvious anger. “What?” Jon stays silent, still glaring, his jaw clenching too. “What?” she asks again, her hands out in surrender.

Dany lays a hand over his arm, hoping to cool his ire. “Jon. We’re fine. There's no need.”

It doesn't work. He ignores her, still drilling holes into his sister with his eyes. “You will not threaten her ever again, do you understand me? She's your Queen. What you did yesterday was treason. She could've burned you alive or had her men cut your head off and had every right.”

Arya puts her hands behind her back, her expression untroubled as she looks up a him. “I know that.”

Her apathy only succeeds in inciting him further. “And what happens to me if you do it again? Or follow through with your threat? Did ya think of that? How I’ll have to put my sword to my own sister's neck? Then bury you both?”

Arya has the decency to look ashamed. She forgets she no longer needs just her thoughts of revenge to keep her warm anymore. “I'm sorry.”

“Apologize to her, not me,” Jon says, his tone easing some, though his eyes are still dark and stormy. She doesn't like him angry with her. At all. It hurts more than she’ll ever let on.

Dany shakes her head. “It's alright, Arya. You don't–”

“No, Your Grace, it isn't. Jon’s right. I can't threaten everyone that looks at my family, no matter how much I want to. Especially queens. I apologise.” 

Stepping closer, Dany holds her hand out to Arya who quickly takes it. “Friends, not enemies. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” 

Dany doesn't let her go, leaning close and whispering in her ear, “I’ll gladly burn anyone who dares hurt him. We’ll keep him safe, I promise.” Arya is smiling when Dany stands back up and winks at her. “I'll wait for you by the armoury.” Looking at Jon she tilts her head. “Don't be long, we don't have much time.”

With his nod she leaves them, Ghost sticking to her heels. 

Jon engulfs Arya in a hug, nearly squeezing the air from her lungs. “I love you, little sister. Always have, always will, but I love her too. Please don't ever make me have to choose between you.” 

Breathing in the leather, smoke, and winter that's all her brother, and letting it comfort her, Arya shakes her head. “I won't, I promise.”

 

\---

 

“Good morning, Your Grace. Thought for a moment you had skipped out on us,” Tyrion greets him as soon as Jon enters the great hall, his cup held high.

_Apparently he hasn't been skipping on the wine._

Jon tilts his head. “No, just getting some well needed rest while I can.” He nods at Missandei who’s wiping drops of wine from her face and an unamused Varys.

He joins them at the table and begins filling his plate. “Did she eat? She said she did,” he whispers to Missandei.

Her smile is tight, but she nods. “A little, Your Grace. More than last night.”

“I don’t like it. If I ask the maester to look her over do you think she’d let him?”

“I doubt it. I love her, but she holds tightly to her pride and puts everyone before herself.”

Tyrion slams his cup down on the table. “What are you two whispering about over there? Care to share? I love gossip.”

Varys rolls his eyes and removes the tankard of wine from the little lord's reach. “They are worried for their queen,” he answers, moving Tyrion's cup next, much to his annoyance. 

“What? Why? I haven't noticed anything. And I'm her hand, I noticed everything,” he declares. 

Jon cuts him with his eyes, then turns away, muttering, “Apparently not.” 

“Do forgive me, My Lord,” Tyrion drawls, “not all of us are as cosy with her as you are.” 

Jon is on his feet, the table rattling at the upset, his eyes narrowed slits spitting fire. Varys whispers furiously into Tyrion's ear, his overcoat fisted in the Spider's grip while Missandei lays a gentle hand on Jon's arm against her better judgement. “Please, Your Grace. Ignore him. He’s been quite the thorn lately.”

Jon closes his eyes, breathing deep through his nose. She's much relieved to see him back in control once he opens them.

“If you have issue with me Lord Tyrion, speak it. I thought we were past this, but if not we need to deal with it now. The Lords of the North do not need to see even a hint of weakness in us. So, tell me, what has changed between last night and this mornin?”

“Nothing but wine,” Varys scoffs. “It is his weakness and makes a fool of him.”

Tyrion jerks away from Varys, getting up and crossing the small distance between Jon and himself. “You'll fight, because that’s what both of you do best, and then you'll die. What happens to the rest of us then? Hmmm? Where will we be?”

“This is a war, Lord Tyrion. Fighin is what happens in war. You can't expect us to sit back and let our people die while we do nothin. She's our only hope. You think I want to watch the woman I love risk her life? I can assure you, I do not. But I will, after I have done everythin in my power to protect her as much as I can. She'll have armour, the dragons will have armour. She will live. If I have to die to see it happen, she will live.”

“How very chivalrous of you, but have you thought what will be left of her if you die?”

“Of course I have. But Daenerys is strong. She'll mourn me, then she'll pick herself up and rule. She's already lost a husband, a child, and one of her dragons. She'll survive. Just like she always has."

“None of those things you mentioned were you though.”

“I am not her husband, or her child.”

“No, you're not. You're more than all of those combined. You're the love of her life.”

“Tyrion.”

“No. I'm right. If she loses you, we lose her. It's as simple as that.” 

“I'm not doing this with you. You're drunk.” Jon’s eyes cut to Varys. “Sober him up before the Lords arrive, or lock him up,” he orders, then stalks away leaving his breakfast barely touched. 

“You know nothing, Jon Snow.”

Tyrion’s quiet words thrown at his back only make him falter for a moment before he’s out the door. 

 

\---

 

Dany startles slightly when his hand touches her back. She scowls at him, concerned. “There's no way you’ve eaten already.”

He watches his sister where she stands a few feet in front of them, staring in wonder at Drogon and Rhaegal. “I lost my appetite.”

“Not because of Arya?” she asks, facing him, her voice quiet.

Jon shakes his head. “No. Your Hand is already deep in his cups this mornin. If he wasn't worried for you I would've gladly pummeled him.”

“What did he–

Jon grabs Dany and seals his lips over hers in a desperate, heated kiss. He doesn't care they're surrounded by her Unsullied and Dothraki. He doesn't care anyone standing on Winterfell’s wall could see them, or that Arya's stifling giggles behind them. Fuck propriety. Dany’s cares fall away with his, neither breaking the kiss until their lungs beg for air. 

His breath no more than gasps, he presses his forehead to hers, holding her face in his hands. “Promise me you'll go on no matter what happens to me. That you’ll take the throne and rule this world. Make it worth livin in. Promise me, Dany.”

Her hands fist in his cloak, shaking him. “Stop it. You do not get to say such things.” Her voice would probably sound demanding to most, but Jon hears the quiver hiding behind the order. ”You are not going anywhere, do you hear me?”

“You know I don't want to, but I have to. Both of us have to accept the other might not be here when it's all over. I'll do everythin in my power to stay with you, but you know it still may not be enough. I need to know you will do this without me.”

“I can, but I will not have to. Because you are not going anywhere.” She's not just demanding now, but angry. It’s the fear. Loving him has brought back the old familiar foe that used to dog her heels as a child, and in the time before her dragons were born. It was herself she feared losing then, now it's him. 

They will not lose him. They cannot. While he believes she's what Westeros needs, Dany knows it needs him just as much. Maybe more. He’s better than her in so many ways. He could rule every bit as well as her. 

Tyrion's fears filter through her mind then. At the time they argued there was no one to consider, but staring back into Jon’s soulful, pain-filled eyes, knowing who he is, what he's willing to do, her choice is easy. She won't tell him, of course. He’d never agree. Tyrion will see it done, and Varys. They'll still be here when it's all over, they’ll help him as they have her. 

She'll fight til her last breathe to keep him by her side though. Together is all she's willing to accept. She's held tight to her belief in herself for years, now she's going to hold tight to the belief in them. And help him do the same. 

Reaching up, she strokes his cheek, his beard tickling her palm. “What, and who are we fighting for, Jon?”

“The living.” 

“That's right. And who have you pledged yourself to?”

“You.”

“I make impossible things happen, do I not?” He smiles despite himself. She’s always using his words against him. “You’ll live, Jon Snow, because I ask it of you, as your Queen. And I, will live for you, my King. We will be together, in all things. I believe in us, I have faith in us. Do you?”

“Aye.”

The blast of a horn cuts through the air drawing their attention across the moors and Dany's armies. Soon six riders come into view, weaving their way through the Unsullied. They carry no banner. 

Arya steps up beside her brother. “Can you tell who it is?”

With a pained expression he glances at Dany and takes her hand, starting for the castle. “Jaime Lannister.”

 

\---

 

“They’re not coming. She lied. To all of us.”

Jamie drops his head, unable to hold the disgusted and angry stares of his brother and the King and Queen. He’s certain Daenerys Targaryen is about to erupt into flames her fury is so apparent. Surprisingly, the King in the North doesn't look much calmer, his brooding facade cracking from the fire dancing in his dark eyes. He is no longer the broken, yet willful bastard Jaime once met within these walls. He’s certain one or both of them are about to shout, “Burn him!”

Tyrion has an all too familiar look on his face. Once again, his family has betrayed him. He no longer has the ability to hide the pain. He shuffles over to the table and pours himself a cup of wine, downing it in one swallow.

The King is the first to find his voice. “Then why are you here?” he asks, so close and with such enmity Jaime winces. 

He once teased this King. Years ago he could have easily killed him had they ever faced one another in battle. Jaime knows that is no longer the case. Knows he may very well feel the cold steel of Jon Snow’s sword against his neck soon. His eyes cut across the room to Bran Stark, bundled in furs and trapped in his chair. He’d deserve it. 

“To fight with you. To try and help save us all from the great war that is upon us. My sister lost her honor, she'll never find it again. It took me too long to see that, but I’d like to die with mine intact.” Pulling his sword free and laying it down, Jaime Lannister kneels at Jon’s feet, his head bowed. “I offer my services to The King in the North, and the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Daenerys Stormborn. For the Houses Stark and Targeryen, I will be a shield, offer counsel, and give my life if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new.”

Sansa’s agitated presence draws Jon's attention. Her brows are heavy over her slitted, ice cold eyes as she shakes her head. Not a sound leaves her lips when she tells him no. Once, she wanted nothing more than to be a part of Jaime Lannister’s family, now he's quite certain she'd enjoy watching Jon take his head. 

He looks to Arya and Bran, both expressionless. Telling him it’s his decision, not theirs. They'll support him regardless. But it isn't just his decision. The Lannisters have caused his family great pain, but Dany is the rightful ruler and the one with more at stake. His eyes find hers and they exchange a silent agreement.

“Arise, Ser Jaime. We accept your pledge,” she says, her tone leaving no doubt she is Queen. She waits for him to do so, then approaches him. “But I warn you, betray us, and you will die. Either by his sword, or my dragons.” 

“Understood, Your Grace,” Jaime says, the tremble of relief and fear in his voice hidden for the most part.

Dany turns on his companion, her eyes flaming within a mask of indifference. “Are you not the man who put a bolt in my dragon?” 

Bronn shifts uncomfortably. He had really hoped she’d been too far away to get a good look at him. “Aye, Your Grace. That was me. Beggin your pardon. I was fightin for the other side that day.”

Jon has moved to her right. Ghost the left. She swears they're both growling. 

“And now you wish to fight for me?”

Bronn nods his head. “Aye, I would.”

“Do you normally join the cause of those you’ve tried to kill?” she asks him.

“I fight to stay alive, Your Grace. You and your dragon were roasting us like pigs for a feast. I was just attempting to even the odds a little. And keep this idiot alive,” he says, nodding towards Jaime. “He’s promised me a castle. He can't give it to me if he's dead. He also tells me there's quite a large army of dead men that want to kill us all. I’d like to live, so I’ll fight with those that are fighin to do the same.”

Again, Dany and Jon have a wordless conversation with their eyes, but this time it's Jon who answers their new supporter. He holds his hand out towards Arya. Her Valyrian dagger is in his grip a moment later, and at Bronn’s throat the next. Ghost gladly joins the threat, red eyes glowing, his sharp teeth prominent in his snarl.

“If you even think of putting a scratch on her, or her dragons, I’ll know. First, I’ll let my little sister play with you, then Ghost here can have a turn. If there's anythin left, I’ll take mine. Are we understood?”

“Aye, Your Grace,” Bronn says. Pod had told him all about the King in the North while the fancy folk talked in the Dragonpit. Apparently his stories weren't wrong. 

“You will both stay with the Unsullied for now,” Dany tells them, as Jon lets the sellsword go and returns Arya's dagger to her. “I doubt the Northern lords will take too kindly to seeing two Lannisters at our table. Go. Bathe, eat, rest. We’ll speak again tomorrow. Grey Worm will escort you.”

They leave, only the clinking and shuffle of metal and leather following them out. 

As soon as the doors close behind them with a loud thud Sansa declares her opinion. “Forgive me, but are you both certain you’ve made the right decision? Jaime is loyal to no one but Cersei. He is here to spy on us. Don't you see that?”

“Of course we do,” Dany says, her voice soft. “That and the many other reasons he could be here.” She crosses the room to stand before Tyrion. Raising an eyebrow she holds her hand out. The little lord passes her his wine with palpable dejection. “We knew this was more than likely to happen. I do not blame you.”

Tyrion's eyes say he certainly does.

“Yet you're letting him and his sellsword roam around Winterfell. Lock them up,” Sansa continues, her storm still brewing.

Dany faces her again. “I assure you, Sansa, they could be in no other prison cell stronger than my Unsullied. Grey Worm will not allow them to cause harm to anyone, not even themselves. They will be watched day and night.”

Getting nowhere with Daenerys, Sansa turns on Jon. “You're fine with this?”

“Sansa, enough,” he sighs, his exasperation evident. “Can you not trust us?”

“He’s not here to cause harm, sister. They made the right choice,” Bran says, drawing everyone's eyes to him. 

“You’ve seen it? You know?” Sansa asks him. 

Bran pulls his eyes from the flames of the fire, turning to look at his sister. “Yes.”

Everyone falls into quiet contemplation after that. Rearranging the pieces on the board, trying to hold onto the hope that's doing its best to slip through their fingers. 

When Jon's eyes meet Dany’s, full of resignation she goes to him, pulling him aside. He doesn't give her a chance to speak, whispering the moment they're out of earshot, “I know you have to go back. I don't want you to worry. We have the dragon glass, and I’ll get the lords to listen. We’ll be fine.”

“I'm not going anywhere, Jon.”

“But Cersei—”

“Is nothing more than a tiny thorn compared to the Night King and his army. I swore we’d defeat him together, and I meant it. I'm not leaving you,” she assures him.

“I don't want you to lose what you’ve already gained.”

“The North is more important. I see that now. I belong here. We’ll worry about her when the Night King is defeated.”

“You look beautiful wearin my cloak, did you know that?” 

Dany smiles at his sudden change of topic. “Hmmmm. I thought you might like it. I was pleased when Sansa told me it was yours.”

Not caring about their lack of privacy, Jon leans in and kisses her. It's not urgent, or demanding, but soft and sweet, and full of all he feels for her. “Thank you,” he whispers, once he lets her breathe again. 

She blinks up at him, slowly. “For what?”

“For being you.” 

Dany lays her hand over his heart, rubbing her thumb over the leather covering it. “You don't have to thank me for that.”

His deep, dark eyes nearly melt her. “I wanted to.”

“Well, alright. Why don’t you go be you and calm your sister down, and maybe Tyrion?”

Jon scowls. “He’s your Hand.”

“Yes, but whatever is wrong between the two of you needs to be fixed.” She smiles up at him. “For my sake.”

Jon grins reluctantly. “You don't play fair,” he grumbles, then kisses her forehead before heading across the room.

Daenerys catches Varys’ eye, then nods her head towards the hallway before walking away. 

The Spider follows his Queen eager to be of assistance. It's been sometime since she's sought his counsel alone. 

As soon as they're away from prying eyes and ears, he asks, “How may I be of service, My Queen?”

“Melisandre. You know where she is?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Make sure and bring her here. As soon as possible.”

“I can do that, but I must tell you, the King and his Hand–”

“I know. I do not care. I need her here. He is far too brave and reckless. He has already tried to give his life for mine, I will not allow him to succeed a second time. She brought him back once, she can do it again. I will not lose him.”

“I understand, Your Grace. It would be a terrible blow to lose such an ally.”

“He is no ally, he is My King,” she snaps, then lets out a harsh breath, pressing her lips tight together and turning away as the leather of her gloves creak in protest at her fisted hands. She only allows herself a moment, then her queenly composure is firmly in place again as she faces Varys. “I expect reports. Keep her out of sight once she arrives and you will not speak of this to anyone.”

“Of course not, Your Grace.”

“Get Tyrion, and then find Jon’s friend, Sam. Bring them to my solar. There's something I need taken care of, the sooner the better.” 

The Spider nods, then watches as his Queen disappears down the dark hallway thinking perhaps his dwarf friend was not so wrong this morning after all. 

It doesn't take him long to gather Tyrion, then find Sam. The three join her not ten minutes after she made the request. She gets straight to business.

“Sam, I have need of your skills for something important. Can you spare an hour or so?”

“Of course, Your Grace. Whatever you need. Umm, what exactly is it you need?”

Her eyes locked on Tyrion's, she tells them. “I need a scribe. I'm ready to name an heir.”

 

\---

 

“My Lords, I thank you for holding the North while I was away, and I hope that you continue to stand with us. I went to secure a powerful ally, and I have. Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen is here to fight with us, not against us. She allowed us to mine enough dragon glass that no one will be without a weapon against our common enemy. She has brought her dragons and her considerable armies to fight with us as well.”

“Aye! Because you bent the knee and gave away our lands! Just like your brother!” 

“Robb never bent the knee to anyone.”

“He did to that bitch he married!”

“There’ll be no disrespect to my brother in this house. Or his ladywife,” Jon roars, shocking most in the room. He won't have it. Not today, not ever again. These lords chose his brother and they chose him. They're going to respect them. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he lowers his voice. “Robb did the best he could. But I am not him. I have not allied myself with a common woman. Daenerys Stormborn is a Queen. The rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Not because of her name, or who her family was, but because she's earned it. Because she puts the good of the people ahead of herself. She is not mad, she's not a spoiled brat like Joffery, and she's no Cersei Lannister who cares nothin for anyone beneath her. She could've taken the Seven Kingdoms the moment she landed in Westeros. You saw her considerable armies and her dragons. She could have laid waste to King’s Landing and all the other kingdoms, includin us, but she didn't. She still hasn't after months of bein here. She doesn't want to be a Queen of ashes. And more importantly, she doesn't want to be Queen of the dead.” 

Jon turns from his Lords and looks at Dany, and she knows what he's about to do. Again. She doesn't try to stop him, instead encouraging him with the smallest of smiles.

“Did I bend the knee? Aye, I did.”

Outrage. Absolute outrage. 

Jon stands his ground, not moving a muscle. All but Dany, seated behind him either sigh or close their eyes. They should all know by now his honesty cannot be contained, but still, they had hoped. 

Their King presses on, his voice commanding the room. “You all told me I was a fool to head south, that she would burn me alive. Yet here I stand. She could've, probably should have. I asked for more than any ruler had a right to while refusing to give anythin in return. I was barely in her presence two minutes before I refused to bend the knee. She could've had her blood riders kill me right then. She didn't. I asked her to believe in something she’d never even heard of. To turn away from her own enemy to fight mine. To risk what she has fought most of her life to regain for a scary fairytale as far as she was concerned. Instead of laughin in my face and orderin my death she choose to consider my side. She didn't lock me up, or hold me prisoner like most queens or kings would've. After some thought she allowed me to mine the dragon glass, again for nothin in return. I still refused to bend the knee yet she gave me the men and supplies I needed to help save us. As soon as I was able to show her a shred of truth to my story she pledged to fight for the North. Again, I refused to do the same for her because of all of you. Even after that she allowed me, a political opponent, still in open rebellion to leave her supervision. I had given her nothin. No pledge to fight, no weapons, no armies. Nothin. And when my life was on the line, and my men and I were facin certain death, she answered my plea. She didn't send her armies, or a single dragon. She came herself. Just her and all three of her dragons. She risked her life and the three things most precious to her for me. Then the Night King killed one of her dragons, yet she still saved all those that came with us. And she waited for me. She thought I was dead, but she waited anyway. Do you think, for one minute, Cersei Lannister would've done that? Would any of you have? Or any other king or queen you’ve known?”

His questions are met with silence, the lords all looking between themselves. Some in disbelief, others in suspicion. Jon turns away, his face a mixture of sorrow and frustration as he looks to his family and counsel. 

Sam comes to his rescue first, stepping out of the corner he’d hidden himself in, a nervous smile on his face. “I know I’m not much, but I’ve known Jon for years now. I’d have died long ago if it weren't for him. I’ve watched him step up and lead when no one else would. Seen him willingly put his life on the line for his men time and again. He's the fairest man I’ve ever known and whether it's his family, his men, or his kingdom, he puts them first. I was there when the men of the Night's Watch chose him to be their Lord Commander. I wish I had been here to see you choose him to be your King. You trusted him enough to let him rule you, now trust him enough to know what's best. He hasn't been wrong yet and if he believes in and trusts Daenerys Targaryen, so should you. Even if I hadn't heard all the amazing stories of her from Essos, Jon’s word alone would be enough for me.”

There's some grumblings from the lords, but also a few nodding heads.

Davos takes the momentum and stands next. “You worry he’s being selfish, putting his heart before his people. That's understandable, it's happened before with other kings. But Jon Snow doesn't have a selfish bone in his body. He gave his life for the Night’s Watch, he risked it for the North at the Battle of the Bastards, and he's risked it beyond the Wall more than once for the North and all the other Kingdoms. He’ll do it again no doubt. If all he was thinking about was his heart, he would have stayed on Dragonstone and left you lot to the Night King and the Army of the Dead. Instead he’s here, with exactly what he promised you. The most powerful ally the North could ever hope for. I’ve been with him since he left, I’ve come to know Queen Daenerys and her people. I’ve also served under many rulers.” He pauses, turning to Daenerys. “Other than my King there's no other I’d rather serve than her. She is fair and just, and has a heart for her people.”

Dany cannot help but smile at the Onion Knight as she nods her head, thankful for his support.

Davos turns to look over the lords again. “You’d do well to trust these two. If you don't, you’ll be facin the dead on your own.”

Tyrion joins the fray next. Standing from his seat and slowly walking around to the front of the table. “I know many of you, possibly all of you would like to see my head on a spike. I come from a family I'm sure most of you don't care for. I can't say I blame you. I don't care for most of them myself. She may be my sister, but Cersei she doesn't care about me, you, your people, or the kingdoms. She's the mad queen you should fear, not Daenerys. She's the one who will burn your castles to the ground killing your people without a second thought. Do you see her here? Her armies? She knows what's beyond the Wall. Knows what's coming to kill us all. She swore her armies to the cause lying all the while. She doesn't mean to help you, or anyone else but herself. Daenerys Targaryen however is here, with her armies, and her dragons. She risked her own life and those of her dragons to go beyond the wall to save your King. She lost one of those dragons there. She pledged herself and her forces to his cause, your cause, before he pledged the North to hers. This isn't about their hearts, it's about their people. It's about saving your ungrateful asses.”

Before the lords can become too incensed from Tyrion's speech, Sansa comes to her feet. The rumbling quiets quickly. “The words of House Stark have never been more true. Winter has come. Our brother. Our King, has fought the terrors it brings, and so has Daenerys Targaryen.” She waves her hand towards Arya and Bran, then to Dany and Jon. “They have our trust, our respect, and our support. You’d be fools not to give them the same.”

“You lot keep callin him our King. But he bent the knee. He is not a King anymore.”

Daenerys stands. The room goes deathly silent as she walks around the table to Jon’s side. Her hands clasped at her waist, she surveys the Northern Lords. Some stare back in anger, others look away when her violet eyes find theirs, fear filling them.

“Jon Snow is still your King. I do not wish to take his title from him, he deserves it more than any man I’ve ever met. He did not give away your lands, or his title. He stood strong for you, for his home and all his people. Not for his own pride, but for yours. I pledged, not once, but twice to fight with him before he ever bent the knee. He should have your respect, just as he has mine. Together we will defeat the Night King and his army. Together we will remove Cersei from the Iron Throne. We will do both, with, or without you. That is your choice. But, if you choose to stand with us and fight our enemies, when peace is won, the North can have it's independence if it so wishes. Jon Snow can keep his title if he wishes. And if he, and the North ever need assistance, they will have it from House Targaryen. I assure you, I am here to save the North, and all the Seven Kingdoms, not defeat them. This, I promise you.”

 

\---

 

Jon nibbles his way across her chest, from one nipple to the other. “You know I’m not keepin my title, right?” 

“Hmmm, we’ll see,” Dany hums, pushing her hips up into his. She loves when he teases her, but she becoming impatient.

They still have the weight of the world on their shoulders, but having the lords on their side certainly feels like reason enough to celebrate. 

Suddenly Ghost comes alive, jumping to his feet with a growl just before a knock sounds against their door. 

Jon groans into her stomach, “Seven bloody hells.”

The knock comes again.

Dany rubs his back. “The sooner you answer it , the sooner we can get back to what we were doing.”

Scrambling to his feet and wrapping his cloak around him he swears again. “If it's not an emergency, I’m going to behead whoever it is.” He jerks the door open to find his best friend and brother.

“Jon.”

“We’re a bit busy right now, Sam.”

“I’m sorry, it's important. We wouldn't be here if it wasn't.”

“What is it?”

“Can we come in?”

Jon glances over his shoulder, eyeing Dany who’s quickly dressing behind him. “Give us a minute,” he grumbles, shutting the door in their faces. 

“What do they want at this hour?” she asks, coming over and smoothing down his mess of raven curls she had thoroughly mussed not minutes ago.

He sighs, the heavy shadows of their burdens falling over the sweet face she loves. “I don't know, but Sam wouldn't bother us if it wasn't something we needed to hear.” 

“Your brother? He’s seen something else?”

“Possibly.”

Desperate to ease the weight upon him if only for a moment, she cups his cheeks and pulls him in for a kiss. “I love you,” she whispers against his full lips, even though they both know those words are never enough for what they feel. 

“And I, you,” he breathes into her, returning her kiss, the tangible presence of unwanted news tearing them apart too soon.

“Best let them in,” she sighs.

Kissing her quickly once more, Jon finishes lacing his pants, then goes to the door, allowing their guests in before shutting it behind them. 

Dany and Jon stare expectantly at them both, waiting, impatient. 

Sam looks sheepish, and worried. “Maybe you should both sit down.”

Jon’s stomach turns, but he hides his unease behind a harsh sigh then joins Dany on the end of the bed. “Well, we’re sitting. Spit it out.”

Instead of Sam getting to the point, Bran does. “You are not a Stark.”

“That's what you interrupted us for? I've known that all my life, Bran, but thank you for the reminder,” Jon bites out harshly. 

Dany reaches over and takes his hand in hers, linking their fingers together. As always, her touch melts the ice around his heart. 

Sam lets out one of his nervous giggles. “What I believe he's trying to say is, you're not just a Stark.”

“Well, obviously. There weren't many other Starks around for father to–”

“He wasn't your father,” Bran says.

“What?”

“He was your uncle.”

Jon shakes his head as if Bran’s words had literally punched him, the rest of his body feeling as if it's being pulled through the floor. 

_He was my father. He wouldn't lie. He wouldn't._

“He lied to protect you. Your mother made him promise.”

“You know who my mother is?” Jon asks, unable to stop himself. There's no other question that has ever haunted him more.

“His sister, Lyanna,” Sam says, softly.

The room begins to spin around him, dread filling his heart. No, no it cannot be. That would mean… Not him, please not him.

Bran confirms his worst fears. “Your father was Rhaegar Targaryen.”


	7. All that I've been taught, and every word I've got, is foreign to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany come to terms with his true heritage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See! I didn't make you wait too long :) I'm actually early! I hope this eases all the upset over that cliffy. 
> 
> I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter, I did my best to put a different spin on it from what most other fics have. Please keep in mind this is my version of things. Some of you have "corrected" me on certain details here and there. I don't mind, but I've never claimed to be an expert on GoT or ASoIaF. I haven't even read the books yet, though I do have them patiently waiting on my shelf. Either way, this is fanfic, it's never going to be exact. 
> 
> It will probably be after Thanksgiving before I get the next chapter posted. I've barely started it, and I have lots of real life things coming up. I'll do my best for you though. 
> 
> Thanks for hanging in there! Enjoy!

Jon clings tighter to Dany’s hand as she struggles to pull away. Knowing he’s about to lose everything he holds dear, he lets her go, his heart going with her as she crosses the room to stare out the window.

Jumping to his feet, he’s to the door a second later, jerking it open. “Get out, both of you. Get out. Now.” 

Sam hurries to turn Bran’s chair, only stopping just before they are through the door. His face holds nothing but pain for his friend. “I’m sorry, Jon, but we thought–”

“You’re the rightful heir. You needed to know,” Bran says, his voice as emotionless as his face. 

Jon has never wanted to hurt his family, but right now he wants nothing more than to throttle his brother. 

_No, not your brother. Your cousin._

“You’ve never been a bastard. They were married. She went with him willingly. They loved one another, and you.”

Not able to take another word he barks at them, his voice strained and thready, “Get out. Do not speak of this to anyone, do you understand me? No one. I'll kill you myself if you do.”

Sam leaves, knowing Jon better than most. He is nothing if not a man of his word. Jon orders Ghost out as well. Surprisingly, he listens to him this time. 

To Jon’s own horror, as soon as he closes the door behind them he crumples under the weight of it all, wishing for all the world that they had never come knocking on their door. He does his best to muffle the roar of agony that rips from his throat. There's nothing he can do to stop the tears. 

Dany's presence behind him is as fierce as Drogon when his mother has been threatened, her fire filling the space around them, cutting through the chill in the room and causing him to sweat. He can feel her pain and shock as if it were his own. His scars ache with it, but not as much as his heart. 

“I don't want it. You have to believe me,” he begs her, unable to rise and meet her eyes. “I swear I didn't know. Even if I had–”

“I know you didn't,” she says, her voice quiet and weaker than he’s ever heard it, belying the anger she feels. 

_Always a Queen._

But neither her words, nor her soft voice dampen the fear coursing through his veins. He must convince her. He rises to go to her, but she's already there in front of him as soon as he turns around, her beautiful face reflecting his pain, tears welling in her violet eyes. 

His arms raise to hold her, but he pulls them back. What if his touch will no longer bring her comfort? What if her love has turned to hate? He lets his fear take over, the words tumbling out like rushing water, “No one has to know. No one. I meant what I said, I’ll kill em myself if they utter a word. It's yours, no one will ever know.”

“Jon, stop it.”

“No. You're angry. I can feel it, see in your eyes. You have to listen to me!”

“Of course, I’m angry!” She yells back, fists clenched at her side, eyes hard as amethysts. “The man I love has just had his world torn apart. Because...because some stupid, jealous man couldn't handle the thought that a girl didn't love him. That my brother let himself get killed. That he wasn't there to protect you.” She turns away, then right back again, stabbing her fingers into her chest. “He wasn't there to protect me either. All we’ve lost, all the fighting we’ve done to find our place, all we’ve suffered for it is their fault. It's them I’m furious with. Them I want to dig up and burn to ashes.” She steps closer, taking his tortured face in her hands and wiping away the tears that threaten to rip her heart from her ribs. “I’m not angry at you, Jon. Never you,” she whispers, her fire barely embers now.

They fall together, letting their shock, turmoil, and grief pour out between them, finding solace in the safe haven of each other's arms. Neither know how much time passes, nor do they care. Getting through this is more important than anything that lies outside their door, or even the beyond the castle walls.

“It's still yours,” Jon finally whispers from his hiding place in her warm neck. “It always has been and it always will be. I won't take it from you. I would never.”

Dany kisses his cheek, slipping her fingers into his hair and gently pushing him away. “That doesn't change the fact that it is yours. You're my brother's son. It belongs to you.”

Jon has always had a strong stomach, but he fears it may turn on him any second. He lets her go, turning away and pacing the room, his fingers spearing his raven curls, as the bit of calm he had gathered vanishes. To Dany he looks like a wolf cornered, frightened and desperate. It breaks her heart all the more.

“I don't want it!” He spins around, pinning her with flashing obsidian eyes. “I’ve told you, none of that matters to me. I never wanted to be King in the North, I sure as fuck don't want to rule them all,” he insists, desperation lacing his voice. “I'm renouncin myself, right here and now.”

She runs to him, grabbing his arm, her eyes wide and frightened. “No. You won't.”

Her demand feels like another punch in the gut. “After all you’ve suffered, all you've fought through to earn your rightful place, you expect me to take it from you? Just like that? You have no idea how much I love you, do you?” he accuses harshly, pulling free of her grasp.

“I do know. That's why I want to do it together. Not just you, or me, but together.”

This time the softness of her voice fills him with hope instead of fear. Enough so the roaring in his ears quiets to a faint whisper. “Together?”

Dany reaches for him again, her small, warm hand cupping his cheek. “Marry me, Jon.”

He’s stunned for a moment, hardly believing a thing he once swore he never wanted, one he recently had been yearning for more than anything, is being offered freely by the remarkable woman he loves more than life itself.

Finally, he stops his world from spinning enough to pull her close, his eyes taking in everything about her angelic, but worried face. It's his job to ease her fears, so he does. “I think it's me that's meant to do the askin.”

She smiles through her tears, filling his heart with a timid peace.

He searches her eyes, her face for any signs of doubt. He finds none. “You really want to marry me.” It should have been a question, but there was no need. 

Dany nods, only slightly. “Even before Bran and Sam. I think I already knew.”

“Knew what?”

“Who you were. Jon, what I feel for you, what you do to me… Every moment I’ve spent with you fills another space in me I didn't know was empty.” She reaches up to brush an unruly curl back into place behind his ear. “It feels as if you were missing all my life and finally you found me and I’m whole for the first time. I’ve become who I’m meant to be with you by my side.”

It would sound crazy to most, but to Jon it is the simple truth. She has done the same for him. He pulls her closer, holding her head against his shoulder and presses his lips into her hair. “I feel it too.” 

She pulls away, eyes sparkling as she looks at him full of hope. “I was beginning to think the Lord of Light gave you an extra dose of magic, but it all makes sense now. So much of it makes sense.” She laughs a bit, like she can't believe she missed something so obvious. “Even Drogon knew who you were. I don't believe he would've ever let you near him otherwise. Don't you see? You're my blood, Jon. You're in my blood as I am in yours.”

_Yes. Maybe too much so?_

“You’re my aunt. I’m your nephew.” His arms ease their hold on her, the truth sinking into every part of him as he says the words aloud.

Knowing his fears and doubts are freezing him up again, Dany resists, increasing her hold. Always his opposite, the fire to his ice. “You’re right, but what does that matter? I was meant to marry my own brother until he sold me like a brood mare. It’s the way of all the houses, especially the Targaryens.”

She’s right. He knows this. Even the Starks married this way. His mind filters through all the scrolls and tomes he studied when he was young, remembering the marriages of cousins, uncles and nieces, nephews and aunts, even brothers and sisters, all made to hold houses together. To continue bloodlines. 

If it's true, if he is her brother’s son… She's no longer the last of her family. He never planned to let her be alone in this world again, but now, now neither of them are. Now they never have to go another day feeling alone. And there could be... If the tales can be believed, if that evil bitch who stole her hope was wrong... He’s never spoken it plainly, tried to quell the small, shaky promise that’s refused to leave his heart, the one that suddenly feels as if it has wings. 

_Could he give her her fondest wish? Could they bring another Targaryen into this world?_

She pulls him from his thoughts, her soft hand caressing his face. “Do you see now? Alone we suffer, together we are great.”

Her words jolt another memory from the depths of his mind. It spills out on a whisper, “A Targaryen alone in this world is a terrible thing.” Dany's beautiful face fills with shock. He quickly explains. “It's somethin I overheard Ser Aemon say to Sam once. They were talkin about you, I think.”

“Me?”

“He liked to know how you were doin’. It wasn't long before I was… Before my men…” His eyebrows draw tightly over his eyes, his memories obviously haunting him. He closes his eyes and shakes his head. When he looks at her again, his eyes are bright and hopeful. “He was right, wasn't he?”

Dany pushes the thoughts of her, their uncle aside for another time. Jon needs her now. “Yes, he was. We weren’t meant to face this world alone. It's why we have both been fighting since the day we were born. We’ve suffered and we’ve lost even if we may have won a few of our battles along the way. Targaryens were built to lose themselves in one another, to take away each other's fears, to combine their strengths. To be together, as one…”

_It all sounds wonderfully easy, but when has anything in his life been easy?_

“Dany, bein a bastard is all I’ve ever known. I had found peace with it. I knew who I was, where I belonged. I don't know how to be anythin else but what I am. A man like me doesn’t deserve to rule one kingdom, let alone seven” he says, turning from her and sinking down onto the bed, defeat making him wither before her eyes.

She follows, kneeling between his legs and taking his hands in hers, willing him to look at her. His dark eyes hold such pain and confusion when they finally met hers that Dany's heart weeps within her chest. Only the small glimmer of hope she finds within their shadows allows her to be the strength he needs.”You're more a king than any I’ve ever known. You are a good man. The best man. With a heart as pure as the snow outside, honor as straight and true as your sword, as loyal and brave as all of my unsullied and bloodriders could ever hope to be, and we lest we forget,” she murmurs, kissing his palm before smiling at him, “honest to a fault.” Her heart leaps with joy when the corners of his mouth pull up at her well meant fun. “You deserve that throne as much as me. As much as anyone. More than anyone.”

He sighs, looking away with the shake of his head. “But I don't know how to be a Targaryen. I can't just change because I suddenly have new parents. How do I choose between what I was and what I am now?”

Dany grasps his chin, pulling his face back to hers. “No one said you had to change or choose. You already are a Targaryen, and a Stark. You are the best of both, Jon Snow.”

She curses herself when tears begin to well in his beautiful eyes. 

“I don't even know my own name anymore,” he gasps, nearly choking on his words.

Dany's on her feet wrapping him in her arms in seconds. Her own tears fall as he clings to her, and she vows he will always know her heart and life are his, that he’ll never have to doubt them. “You will always be Jon to me.”

He wants to believe her, she can see it in his eyes, but she also sees the years of rejection and defeat weighing him down like an iron suit of armor. He takes a deep shuddering breath, then seems to steel himself. “I need to go somewhere. Come with me?”

“Of course.”

He stands, pulling her up with him. “You’ll need more clothes.”

Silently they pull their layers of leather and furs, boots and gloves on. Jon leads her out their door, waving off the guards, then takes them through the maze of hallways and stairs until they reach the courtyard. From there she follows him to a door she hadn't noticed before, one cut into the stone archway that separates the two sides of the castle. Once they begin to descend a set of stairs it only takes her a moment to realize they’re going down into the crypts of Winterfell. 

The lower they go the heavier the air becomes. It’s thick with moisture, cold and unforgiving, filling her lungs til they ache. The candles burning do little to lift the weight within the pressing stone walls. The presence of those surrounding them, and their memories seem to swallow the light, not letting it reach her. Dany shivers under her cloak. Burning the dead seems more freeing than this, for those who have left, and those left behind. But she understands why they're here and doesn't fault him for wanting to be near those he loved. Especially now. 

Jon stands before the only father he ever knew, missing him more in this moment than he ever has. Yet he's angry, furiously so. He trusted him, more than anyone, or anything. To know that trust was all built on top of such a lie… It feels as if he's being murdered all over again, the cold steel of truth piercing and slicing his guts and heart once more. 

“Honor, honesty, loyalty. That's what everyone knew him as. What he instilled in us, day in and day out. All I ever wanted was to be a Stark,” he says, his voice as rough and weak as it was when he woke from falling through the ice. “To carry the honor of his name. To be called his trueborn son and not his bastard. But I was only ever the livin breathin' embodiment of his shame. Now I find out he was keepin the biggest secret, tellin the deepest lie. Makin me live—”

“And if he hadn't?” Dany asks, softly, before he can become too angered by his own thoughts.

Jon shakes his head, dropping it to stare at the soft dirt beneath their feet. “I’d be dead.”

Dany lifts her eyes to the stone face of Ned Stark. He’s not nearly as handsome as Jon, but she sees the resemblance all the same. “I think I hated him as much as Robert. For not controlling him, for allowing him to tear my family to pieces. I thought him just another Stag, or Lion, but he wasn't, was he? He was a wolf, smart and cunning, doing whatever it took to protect his pack.” Dany laces her fingers through Jon’s, looking up at his despondent expression. “He loved you, as much as your mother. He protected you because the rest of your family wasn't here to do so. I’ll never be anything but grateful to him again.” 

He nods, his fingers squeezing hers, a silent thank you for the comfort she's doing her best to give him. Turning, he leads her deeper into the crypts.

“I used to have nightmares about this place,” he murmurs, his tone grim and resigned. “I’d be down here in the pitch black, but I could still see them. The Kings of Winter. Their hard granite eyes would follow me, narrowing to slits as I passed. All of them said I didn't belong here. That I wasn't a Stark, and I never would be.”

“But you are a Stark,” Dany gently, but quickly corrects him. “Varys, Tyrion, and even Jorah have all said you are the most like Ned of any of his children.”

“But I'm not his child, am I?” The smile he gives her threatens to break her heart. 

She pulls their joined hands up to her lips and presses them to his knuckles, taking a deep breath in hopes of keeping her voice steady. “You may not be from his loins, but he raised you, and loved you as if you were. Do you truly think he wouldn't be proud of you now? After all you've done, all you've survived. You're King in the North. You took back your home, you're fighting to save the seven kingdoms, and you've won the heart of a queen. All with honor and honesty.”

Jon stops and pulls her into his arms, letting her warmth seep into him as he looks back at Ned. He can't help but wonder if he's somewhere looking down on them, happy that they’ve found one another. He hopes so. 

“They also told me of your mother,” she whispers into his neck. “They say she had the wolf’s blood running strong within her veins. She must have, to follow her heart the way Sam and Bran say she did. I never believed Rhaegar would stoop to kidnapping. All the other stories I heard of him never made sense otherwise.” She pulls back and looks into his eyes. “Your mother was a Stark, a proud one. And so are you. The wolf blood runs strong within you too.”

He stares at her with those soulful eyes of his, trying his best to smile and take comfort in her words. Seeing the statue that could only be Lyanna, Dany leads him to her, never letting go of his hand. She stays silent, giving him time to feel the riot of emotions that must be running through him, but watches him closely. She has to turn away when his tears start to fall.

“I can't believe she was here this whole time,” he whispers, his voice rough as gravel, yet weak as a babe's cry. “All those years I wondered, asked him about her, and she was right here.”

Dany doesn't know that there are words to ease that certain pain. She leans into him, rubbing his chest and finds others that might distract him instead. “She was beautiful. She reminds me of Arya, and you. Something tells me you both have her eyes.”

Jon huffs, the tiniest of tugs pulling at the corner of his lips. “Lady Catelyn hated I looked more like a Stark than her own children. Except for Arya. One of the few times I heard him speak about Lyan…” His head drops. He shakes it. “My mother... was him telling Arya how alike they were. I remember he’d looked at me while Arya rattled off questions. His eyes were full of sadness. They were more often than not when he looked at me.” He stares up at his mother, his fingers playing anxiously with Dany's. “I always thought it was because he regretted me, what he'd done to bring me into the world, or wishin he had left me behind and never brought me here. I guess seein me still brought him pain, just a different kind than I thought.” 

Dany hugs his arm, laying her head on his shoulder. “I'm sure every time he saw you he wanted to tell you, to apologise for the pain. I bet he whispered to her how proud she’d be of you too.”

“The only thing I ever wanted more than to be a Stark was to know my mother loved me,” he whispers.

She looks up at his downturned face. “Now you have both.” 

“Aye.” His coal black eyes shine with tears as they stare into hers. “So why does it hurt so much?”

Swallowing down the lump in her throat, she forces her own tears to stay put, reaching up and stroking his cheek. “Because it wasn't fair for her to die. For you to never know her, and her love. Or to grow up thinking you were nothing but a mistake.”

He takes Dany into his arms, knowing her words are for him, as well as herself. She has felt the same pain he is now all her life. He buries his nose in her soft hair, breathing her in as he rubs her back and kisses her head. “What a pair we are.” 

“We have each other now.”

“Aye.”

Her arms hold him tighter. “Promise me. You’ll never—”

He pulls away and takes her face in his hands. “I swear it. Together. We’ll always be together.”

“I love you, Jon.”

“I love you,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around her and tucking her head under his chin.

She hugs him back, letting out a small laugh. “Who would ever dare to love a dragon?”

“What?”

“I asked myself once, who could ever dare to love me, a dragon. Now I know.” She smiles up at him. “Another dragon.”

He smiles, despite his heavy heart, leaning in to kiss her. 

“Jon?”

Pulling apart, they both look towards the stairs where Sam stands, rocking on his feet.

“I was worried. I wanted to make sure you were all right,” he says, as timid as a scolded child. 

Dany smiles at him, her heart swelling knowing Jon has such a loyal friend.

Jon waves him over. “C’mere Sam.”

His friend descends the stairs, encouraged by the smile Jon is offering. When he holds his arms out, Sam steps into them, hugging him tightly, his round face glowing.

“I'm sorry I yelled at ya,” Jon murmurs, his voice gruff with emotion. 

Sam pulls away, still smiling. “Oh, it's all right. We probably could’ve done a better job of telling ya.” Jon smirks, but it's not enough to ease his worry. “Are you really all right?”

“Aye, I think so.” He tilts his head, giving a wry smile as he looks at Sam through his dark lashes. “I was murdered and brought back from the dead. This has actually been a bit less jarring.”

Sam winces. “I would imagine so.” His eyes dart between his friend and the queen. “Are you two… With the heir thing an all?”

“We’re fine,” Dany assures him with a gentle smile. She almost jokes about not burning Jon alive, but thankfully catches herself in time.

“Can you do us a favor?” Jon asks him.

“Sure. Anything.”

“Go wake my sisters and Davos and bring them down here. Dany's counsel too. They should know. I think we’ve decided what to do but it won't hurt to get their thoughts first.”

“Of course! I'll be back,” he huffs, already halfway to the stairs.

“It might be a good idea to bring Bran too,” Jon calls after him. 

“All right!”

 

\---

 

Not quite half an hour later, the crypts of Winterfell have almost as many living beings tucked inside as dead. Their family and friends are all gathered around them near his mother's resting place, shifting nervously on their feet, though their eyes are still bleary from sleep.

“What's going on?” Sansa asks, obviously anxious after being awoken in the middle of the night for a secret meeting. “Why are we all here?”

Dany looks at Jon, seeing clearly that he isn’t as ready as he thought he was. His head is hanging, and he can’t stop fidgeting with his gloves. She’s more than willing to do this for him though. “Not long after we turned in for the night, Bran and Sam paid us a visit. They had learned some very interesting news through their reading and visions.”

“So interesting we all had to come down here in the middle of the night?” Arya asks. “Must be something big. And how come you look happy and Jon looks just like he did whenever my mother came round?” She takes a threatening steps forward. “What’d you do to him?”

Jon’s head jerks up and he’s already scowling. “She didn't do anythin. What they told us just has me unsettled is all.”

“Well, what is it then?” Arya asks, worry replacing her anger.

Jon looks over to Sam, silently begging his friend for help.

Shuffling a little closer to everyone, Sam clears his throat. “Well, you see, when we were at the Citidel, Gilly was reading through a High Septer's diary. I wasn't really listening at the time, but what she told me was he annulled Rhaegar Targaryen’s marriage to Elia Martell then married him to another woman in a secret ceremony. That woman was your Aunt Lyanna,” he says, pointing to her statue behind them. “I didn’t think much of it, until I talked to Bran. Turns out he'd seen something else even more important about them in one of his visions.”

Surprised looks are exchanged between those hearing this news for the first time. They grow into eager ones when Sam fails to continue.

Bran decides to add his part of the tale. “Whether Robert lied, or just assumed, his rebellion against the Targaryens wasn't because Rhaegar kidnapped and raped Aunt Lyanna. She went with him, because she loved him. And he loved her.” After giving them a moment to absorb that revelation, he continues. “Father found her at the Tower of Joy in Dorne, laying in a blood soaked bed, weak, pale, and burning with a fever. She’d just given birth.” He turns and looks at Jon, ignoring everyone else in the room. “As soon as she saw him she began pleading for him to help her son. 'His name is Aegon Targaryen. If Robert finds out, he'll kill him. You know he will. You have to protect him. Promise me, Ned. Promise me.’”

Jon turns away, too overwhelmed to face the others. Dany goes to him, whispering in his ear and rubbing his back. The others watch them, confused.

Bran draws their attention back to him, giving the pair the time they need. “Father kept his promise. When he rode through the gates of Winterfell with the heir to the Iron Throne in his arms, he told everyone the babe was his bastard son, Jon Snow.”

They're all as silent as the stones that surround them, eyes as wide as dinner plates, until Arya lets out a delighted laugh, jumping on her feet and sending a resounding clap through the tunnels. She runs around and throws herself at Jon. “A Targaryen! I always knew you were the best of us, brother.”

He hugs her back, too choked up to respond for awhile, then finally whispers, “It's cousin now.”

Arya pushes away and slaps at his chest. “Shut it. You’re my brother, and you always will be. I’ll kill anyone that says otherwise,” she says in no uncertain terms.

He smiles despite himself. 

Everyone turns when a smothered cry comes from Sansa. She stands, shaking, her hand over her mouth, while tears stream from her crystal blue eyes. Jon fears he may vomit until she begins to speak. 

“Why would he lie? He let her hate you,” she chokes out. “All those years she was so cruel to you. Made me... Why would he do that? Why?”

“Better a bruised and battered heart, than a dead boy,” Tyrion says, his tone gentle and lacking its usual witticism. “Your lady mother may have been able hold the secret behind her lips, but her actions would have shouted it to the farthest reaches of Westeros. She would have loved him as her own had Ned told her the truth. No one would have been fooled into believing a high born lady like herself could ever love her husband's bastard like that.”

Sansa wipes at the tears that won't stop falling.

“Do you think for one moment any of you children could've kept your mouths closed?” Tyrion asks her. “One slip in front of a servant and it would've all been over. That one would’ve told another and then another, until one finally whispered in the Spider's ear,” he says, waving towards Varys. “Jon wouldn't have made it to his second summer before Robert killed him. Your father would have been next on his list, maybe your mother too.” He turns sympathetic eyes towards Jon. “I'm certain the choice weighed heavy on his heart every day, but he chose right. You wouldn't be standing here if he hadn't.”

Jon can only nod, wise enough to know Tyrion's words are true, despite the hurt they inflict.

Sansa comes to him, wrapping him in a tight hug. “I'm so sorry it had to be that way. I'm so sorry.”

“It's all right. None of it was your fault,” Jon tells her. He kisses her hair, squeezing her before letting go. “Maybe it was for the best. If I’d known I might have turned out to be another Joffery,” he says, trying to cheer them both.

Sansa smiles through her tears. ”Thank the gods you didn’t.” She sniffs, wiping her nose in a very unlike Sansa manner. “Regardless, Arya’s right. You're still our brother. You're still half Stark, just like the rest of us.” Her smile grows. “You certainly look more like them than I do anyway.”

Jon smiles back at her, it's small and unsteady, but it's there.

“It's a good thing you did take after your mother,” Sam pipes up. “Not sure how Ned would've hidden you if you'd come out with purple eyes and silver hair,” he says with a chuckle. 

The tension breaks, everyone looking around at one another then all laughing at once. 

“I knew I liked him,” Varys says, once they've quieted. “I’ve always prided myself on knowing everything there was to know about everyone, yet he kept you hidden right under our noses.” He shakes his head, smiling. “Honest Ned. So truthful he brought his bastard home to his ladywife. He may have been the smartest of us all,” he muses, then looks to Dany. “You know, just before Robert died he saw the error of his ways where the Targaryens were concerned. He told Ned, and the second he could, Ned came to me and ordered me to stop the assassins that were tasked to end you. He had always staunchly opposed Robert’s wrath against your family. He even refused to be his Hand if Robert went through with his plans to kill you. Now we know why.” He smiles at Jon. “His beloved sister's baby boy was tucked away up here. A dragon being raised by wolves. He loved a boy with Targaryen blood and didn't want you to be the last. There's no telling what Robert would've done had he known. Killed you both I suppose. Maybe even with his own sword.”

Tyrion walks over to Dany and holds his hand out to her. She takes it and he places his other one over it, smiling up at her with affection. “I'm so happy for you.” He looks to Jon. “For both of you. You’ve been alone all your lives, now you don't have to be.” Looking back at Dany, he nods towards Jon. “I told him once the two of you were the best match.” His smile brilliant, he says, “Look how right I was?”

Dany huffs out a laugh, rolling her eyes, before smiling down genuinely at her Hand. “Thank you, my friend.”

When he looks over to Jon though, he’s giving him his best brooding scowl. “Does this mean there’ll be no more complaining about us?”

Tyrion has the decency to look sheepish. “You still love each other too much, but, you're family now. That changes everything.” He raises his eyebrows at Dany. “Sam will need to change the name on that paper we drew up today.”

Dany frowns down at him, shaking her head. Jon doesn't miss it. 

“What's he talkin about?” he asks her.

She really wanted to save that particular news for later, he’s had to cope with so much already, but considering what they know now…

Rising up on her toes, she whispers in his ear, “I made you my heir today.”

She watches as he works through his thoughts and feelings on the matter. He’s stunned to say the least, maybe even upset for a fleeting moment, but he comes to terms with it rather quickly, nodding his acceptance. “I’ll do the same for you.”

Dany gives him a smile, not caring they have an audience. “If you wish.” 

“Of course I do,” he whispers, then kisses her, as unconcerned about their audience as she is.

Missandei clears her throat, breaking the couple apart. “Your Grace, forgive me. I mean no disrespect to either of you, but what will you do? Will the Northern lords except His Grace as a Targaryen and still be willing to fight for us? And what of the throne? Who will rule?”

“We will rule together,” Dany tells her. “When we have defeated the Night King, if there's a throne left to take, we will do it together.”

“Ruling as Aunt and Nephew?” Davos asks, finally speaking up.

Dany’s shoulders square under the heavy furs she wears as she clasps her hands together at her waist. Next to her, Jon stands straighter, shifting closer to her side and raising his chin. Not one person present doesn't feel the subtle change in the air around them as if the pair of them are a sail suddenly filled with a prevailing wind. There’ll be no fighting what they're about to say. 

“As King and Queen, and husband and wife,” Dany says. “We wish to be married straight away.”

Wide eyes and raised brows are the only response to the Queen's announcement, her words as strong as the stones surrounding them. 

“Well, all right then. Sounds good to me,” Arya pipes up, finally breaking the silence, “except…” She stares at Jon, her little face all twisted with distaste. “No disrespect to Aunt Lyanna or anything, but I am not calling you Aegon.”

He gives her a stern, disapproving look, long enough it makes her shoulders wilt, before letting a smile creep onto his face. Walking over to her he musses her hair before wrapping his arm around her and leading her from the crypts. “What shall it be then, little sister? Jon Snow Targaryen? The first of his name?”


	8. Come and save me from it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More aftermath from the reveal, Jon becomes a dragon rider, and Bran drops the biggest bomb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long. Real life and all that shit. I was all over the place with this one, hopefully it's worth reading.

Jon and Arya’s laughter echoes through the crypts as the others watch them leave. 

“What of the Northern Lords? I don't believe they will accept this, Your Grace,” Missandei asks again, still unsettled.

Dany sighs. “No, as much argument as they gave us today, I don't believe they will either. It's only their fears keeping them on our side. From what I've seen and Jon's told me, they barely trust him as it is. They certainly won't once they discover he’s Rhaegar’s son.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “They'll all believe it's some conspiracy we’ve been planning since birth.”

“Then we keep his true heritage within these walls, and between ourselves until the Great War is over,” Tyrion cuts in. “Your marriage can be seen as a political alliance until then, just one with the added gift of love.” 

“They won't like that either,” Davos warns. 

“They don't have to like it. He’s their King.”

“Only because they chose him. They can un-choose him. I wouldn't put it past them to do just that. I'm surprised they didn't do it today.”

Sansa’s soft voice cuts through the heaviness left by the Onion Knight's words. “It shouldn’t have to be this way. It's certainly not what I want. Jon deserves some happiness, you both do, but maybe the wedding should wait until after they've seen at least some battles won, if not the war,” she suggests. “None of them truly supported him until after we took back Winterfell. They need to see to believe.”

Knowing she was once just as hard headed Dany scrambles for another way. “Why do they even have to know about the wedding? There's not enough time, or food to have a huge feast. Not with winter here.”

“She's right,” Varys says. “There's no rules they have to witness it, or even know about it. Let them marry, then we'll tell the stubborn oafs after it's done. Once there's no reason for them to complain.”

Tyrion looks to the rest of the group for approval. Missandei and Sansa both give demure nods, Brad is a mask of indifference, and Sam is smiling as usual. Davos gives him a shrug. “If Jon’s alright with it, so am I,” he says. 

 

\---

 

They’ve made their way under the furs of their bed again. He cannot deny half of his heart wishes they had never been disturbed in the first place. After all he’s endured, and Dany too, it's still soul shaking how quickly the world can shift under your feet forever changing your view of things.

No words have been spoken between them since she emerged from the crypts and took his hand in hers and led them to their room. His family and their counsel had drifted away into the night, leaving them to themselves.

It felt almost like their first night together all over again, only this time she took control, undressing him slowly, then herself. She pressed kisses to his lips and the arch of his throat, carved promises into his skin with her nails. She loved him. Prayed between his thighs as he was so fond of doing to her. Then cradling his hips with hers, she took his pain and filled the hole in his heart with her fire, igniting his own. He surrendered, with moans and grasping hands, his soul laid open by her whispered, “Blood of my blood.” 

Her delicate hand caresses his cheek now, as their breathing calms, fingertips gently running over his beard, her lavender eyes full of love for him. He knows, no matter how dire their troubles, how heavy the weights upon their shoulders, or how dark the night, having her heart for his own turns them all to ash under his boots. 

Knowing nothing else matters but that frightens and thrills him all at once. Gods, if they could only be at peace and know nothing but each other for the rest of their days.

“What did I do to deserve you?” he asks, his voice rough from disuse and emotion.

“I could ask the same,” she whispers back.

He shakes his head, smiling softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You deserve everythin good in this world.”

Dany loves him all the more for saying so, even if she knows it isn't true. He believes it, that's what matters. Her eyes flutter closed, lips curving up in a gentle smile. She nuzzles into the crook of his shoulder, settling closer to him. “Well, you certainly fit that description,” She looks up, her eyes dancing with mirth, “and if I didn't know you better I’d say you were fishing for compliments.”

“I would never,” he huffs, feigning offense. 

Her giggle is soft and airy. “Of course not.”

Smiling, he turns and places a kiss on her forehead. She presses one to his chest. They go quiet, both beginning to succumb to sleep, their bodies relaxed after their lovemaking. His fingers slowly trail up and down her back, hers ghost over his scars. He doesn't mind anymore, she's touched them so often he only finds comfort in it now. 

“If you want to know why I love you, it may take a few days to list all the reasons,” she murmurs, “but I meant what I said earlier tonight. You are the best man I’ve ever known. Your heart is only for others, never yourself.”

He pulls her closer, his callused hands running over her possessively. “My heart is yours. I love you with all that I am, no matter the chaos it's brought. I don't give a damn what anyone thinks about it. Gods take em for all I care. If that's not selfish, I don't know what is.”

“You do care. You wouldn't have bothered coming back here if you didn't.”

He pops up, resting on his arm and dislodging her from her comfortable spot. “I came back to try and save us from the dead, not to get anyone's approval on who I can love and who I can't. Fook em all.”

Dany attempts to stifle a giggle, but fails. This righteous stubborn side of him boiled her blood when they first met, she finds it nothing but endearing now. Especially how his accent thickens along with it.

He rolls over her, pinning her with his hard body, and even harder stare. His eyes are black as soot and more beautiful than they have any right to be. “Are you laughin at me?”

She shakes her head, biting into her plump lip to keep her grin from growing too large. It makes him smile. “I would never, Jon Snow.”

The light fades from his eyes, but he still kisses her before falling over onto his back. The bed shakes and creaks in protest beneath them. “Jon Snow. Aegon Targaryen.” He sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. “Why’d you think they named me that? He already had a son named Aegon.”

Dany curses herself for upsetting him again as she rubs his chest. She loves his name, it slips from her tongue so easily and is as dear to her as he is. It will be a challenge to not to speak it. “I'm not sure.”

“He set aside his wife and children for my mother. I can't decide how I feel about that either.”

She continues running her hand over his smooth, pale skin, down the rippling muscles of his stomach, hoping to soothe him. His hands upon her always bring her ease. “Nor can I. I wish Ser Barristan were still here. He enjoyed telling me stories of him. He loved and respected Rhaegar very much. He told me once that he never liked killing even though he was very good at it.” She props herself on her elbow and smooths his tangled curls from his forehead. “Someone else I know feels the same.”

He meets her gaze, brows drawn in pain and confusion. “How can I be like someone I’ve never known?”

She shrugs. “The same way I am, I suppose. We’re all blood of the dragon.” Jon takes that in in his usual way, silent and thoughtful, turning the words over in his mind. When he continues to mutely stare up at the ceiling she steers him in a different direction. “Before I had to marry Drogo, I would lay in bed imagining other paths for my life. I remember thinking I would have married Aegon, had he lived. He would have been more my age than Viserys. Now I will marry you, his second son, and not out of duty, but for love.”

Jon rolls back over, this time laying against her chest, wrapping himself around her. “I don't think I can take his name. It’ll be hard enough to not be a Snow anymore,” he mumbles. “Will it disappoint you?”

Dany spears her fingers into his curls, tugging slightly until he cranes his head back to meet her eyes. She cups his cheek, caressing it with her thumb. “Nothing you could ever do would disappoint me, my love. No matter what your name is, I will love you always.”

His smile is slight, but it's there. He takes her fingers in his hand and kisses them, then snuggles back into her. “Maybe when all the wars are over. When it's time for you to take the throne.”

Her hand stills its path through his hair. “Time for us, you mean.”

“Aye, maybe then. I admit Jon doesn't sound very kingly or Targaryen like.”

Her fingers resume their strokes. “Nonsense. I am the first of my name, you can be the first of yours. We plan to do things differently anyway, correct?”

“We do.”

“Everyone thought it best to keep the wedding to ourselves until after the war. Will you be alright with that?” she asks cautiously, after several quiet moments. 

“It makes me angry we should have to, but it will save us some grief. We could do with a little less of that.”

“We could. Tomorrow night then? In your Godswood?”

He raises onto his arm again, all the shadows from his eyes are gone, replaced with love and a brightness far too rarely seen. “Tomorrow night.”

She cannot keep her hands from his precious face. “I love you, Jon.”

He kisses her with a painful tenderness. “And I you, Dany.”

 

\---

 

Sleep evading him, Jon found himself in the war room well before dawn. For hours he has tried to fill his mind with battle plans hoping to push the ghosts back into their hiding places, but he is failing miserably. His mind is nothing but a nest of snakes, his heart weighed down with chains. 

A hunger is growing inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade. It shocks him. He once wanted to be Lord of Winterfell with the same desperate need. He turned down Stannis' offer then, yet here he is, King in the North. No more a bastard, but a trueborn Targaryen instead.

_I am not a Stark._

__All his life he’s repeated those words. They were a way to shield his heart, to remind himself of his place in this world. Should he claim them now, embrace the truth? Can he be a dragon? Or is Dany right? Can he be both?_ _

___By the gods he has never felt more lost. ____ _

____So much has already been laid at his feet despite who everyone thought he was. But he wants more. He wants it all. The queen, the children. And peace. But with those comes ruling seven kingdoms. The more the idea sits within him, the more it grows on him. Which shocks him all the more. Has he been a greedy bastard all his life? Power hungry and vicious without a care for others? Was the lie coming to light all it took for the madness to take hold?_ _ _ _

_____You are a good man. The best man. ____ _ _ _

_______Please let her be right. ____ _ _ _ _ _

________His silent company isn't helping him answer any of his questions, or ease his troubled mind. Other than a nod in greeting he hasn't made a sound since he entered the room five minutes ago._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“What are you starin' at?” Jon asks him, nearly growling._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Jamie apologizes with a wry smile. “Now that I know, I wonder how I never saw it before. You are so much like them.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Surprise fills him, he didn't think there was anyone still alive that had known either of them. “You knew them well?” he asks, unable to bite back his curiosity._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Well enough, especially your father.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Ned Stark was my father.” The words are out before he can stop them. He’s doubtful he’ll ever see things differently. Right this moment he has no desire to._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Jamie smiles again, dropping his head. “He was. You are very much like him too. The three of them were some of the best people I ever knew. It's easy to see how you turned out like you did, despite being called a bastard all your life.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Deciding he’s ready for this conversation to be done, Jon bites out, “Why are you here?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Tyrion thought it might do you some good to speak to someone that knew them. He’s worried your mind might be elsewhere when it needs to be focused on the war. He thought maybe if I answered some questions for you, it would ease your mind.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Tell Lord Tyrion I am not his King to manipulate.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I don't believe that's…” Jon’s dark stare causes Jamie pause. “Is there truly nothing you’d like to know?” More staring. “You're angry, that's understandable,” he tries again._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Jon turns away, staring into the fire, arms crossed over his chest. “Bein lied to all your life has that effect I’ve found.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Surely you see it was to keep you safe?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Of course I do!” he barks. He checks himself, taking a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fists to expel some energy, then turns back to the Kingslayer. “Daenerys and I… Their love caused thousands to die. I do not want the same to be said of us.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________There it is, his fear laid bare. His parents followed their hearts and brought nothing but sorrow and death. The thought that he is doing the same terrifies him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Jamie takes a few cautious steps forward, feeling more empathy than he ever expected to for the King in the North. “Thousands will die, but not because of your love. You're trying to save us from an enemy much more sinister than Robert Baratheon or my sister. And you're doing it together. You, brought her to this fight. There’d be no hope for any of us without you two.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Jon huffs and shakes his head. “When everyone find out who I really am, do you think that will matter to them?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Jamie sighs, his face etched with guilt and regret. “For my sister? No. Finding out you're a Targaryen will not please her, that you're Lyanna's son… That will make her more crazed than she already is. She fancied Rhaegar. Father even told her she might marry him. Of course Aerys wouldn't hear of it, but she held out hope even after he was wed to Elia. She knew he didn't love her. Then he chose your mother and father forced her to marry Robert, who also chose your mother over her. It wasn't just Robert Ned was protecting you from. Tyrion is correct in wanting to keep the truth hidden. I dare say the rage she has for you and Daenerys would rival the Mad King’s if she were to find out.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________A slow smile spreads across Jon’s face, but there is no humor found in it. It is as sharp and cutting as a steel blade. “That's lovely to hear.”  
He walks around the table, slowly, until he's toe to toe with the Lion. With each step closer he seemed to grow before Jamie's eyes, harder, more formidable. Like a direwolf or a dragon. Icy sparks glint within his dark eyes and Jamie decides it's both. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The Kingslayer shifts nervously. He knows a threat when he sees it. He counts himself lucky to be alive as it is. The King in the North has every reason to take his head. He could do it too. Quiet easily. Jamie is no match for him anymore. And he is certain it will only take one more offense for the King’s mercy to come to an end._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He holds himself steady, but respectful as he returns the King’s gaze._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Finally he speaks, his voice hard and cold. “Then she will not. Will she?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“She will not. No one will, not from me. I meant my vows. It’s you and Daenerys I protect now. You have my word.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Jon’s hard stare measures him for a few moments more. “And if it comes down to it, if we survive the great war and face her… Could you take her life to protect ours?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The thought is a jagged knife digging into Jamie's gut, but he finally knows her for what she is, knows his love cannot save her, it never could. Her mind and heart are so twisted and dark, killing her would be merciful. “I could, and will if ever faced with the choice.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The ice fades from the King’s eyes, his whole demeanor softening, shrinking back into the mere man. “For your sake, I hope it doesn't come to that.” He turns and walks back to the table, picking up his gloves. “And the North? How do you think they'll feel to know their King is of the enemy's blood?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“They do seem hold tight to past offenses, Your Grace, but I believe with time they will see reason.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“One can hope.” Jon sighs, pulling on his gloves. “Your Lord brother is correct though. I do need something to settle my mind. This, however is not it. Care to join me in the practice yard?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I’d be honored.” Jamie waves his golden hand towards the door. “Lead the way, Your Grace.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________\---_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Boiling nausea jars Dany from her sleep. She's bent over the chamber pot moments later, her stomach intent on emptying its contents. Painful heaves rack her body in torturous waves all for naught. She hasn't eaten anything of substance since early yesterday, there's nothing to expel. Finally she's left gasping and weak, her head in danger of splitting open while tears spill from her watery eyes. The bitter taste of bile filling her mouth threatens to start the whole process over again._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________She crawls to Jon's desk hoping there's enough wine left to rinse her mouth out with. Ghost whines as he licks her shoulder, following her every movement closer than a shadow. Using him for balance, she stands on shaky legs. As the other unpleasant sensations begin to fade the cold overtakes her, the sweat covering her naked body chilling like ice against her skin in the crisp air. Moving as quickly as her body will let her, she rinses her mouth then returns to their bed, burrowing under the furs._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The bed creaks under Ghost’s heavy weight as he climbs up beside her. It's then her throbbing brain realizes Jon is gone. His wolf lays close to her to share his heat she assumes, nuzzling at her cheek like a worried mother until she pets him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I'll be better soon.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________She knows nothing else until Missandei wakes her sometime later, fussing over her worse than Ghost. She scolds them both claiming there's no time to worry over a nervous stomach._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Have you seen him this morning?” she asks her friend, knowing she’ll answer all the questions her words held. He didn't sleep, the weight of his new knowledge heavy on his heart and mind._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“He is in the yard, Your Grace. Sparring with anyone who will face him. Greyworm praises his King.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“As well he should. Jon is known as a great swordsman.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Of course, Your Grace, but he is still surprised.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Why?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“He says no man should be able to fight so well with that much...rage boiling within him.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Dany spins around, pulling her braids free of Missandei’s nimble fingers. Violet eyes search brown, then she is on her feet and out the door._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________She finds him just where Missandei said she would, fighting like a man possessed against the sellsword Bronn. She has seen him fight only once, beyond The Wall. That was no place to observe his skills. Here, everyone’s stopped to watch their King. A crowd has gathered around the walls of the yard, their tasks forgotten. Some faces are filled with pride, others in fear, still more switching quickly between the two._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He is like no other she has ever scene despite her travels. His movements are as graceful as a dance yet full of fury, every swing, spin, and strike meant to kill. Like the crowd gathered she doesn't know what emotion to settle on. Watching him stirs so many things within her._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Ser Bronn must feel the same. One moment his face alights with glee, then Jon will let out a roar, attacking the sellsword with such ferocity he must scramble back, ducking and spinning else his King will remove his head or spill his guts._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________She isn't sure whether she moves or her gasp somehow reached his ears through the ringing of steel against steel, but his eyes find her with no searching at all._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Then Bronn of the Blackwater's sword is against his neck. “She is a sight to behold, Your Grace, but one that will mean the death of ya if you let her distract you.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Jon eyes narrow, his face twitching into a snarl as he pushes the sword from his throat. Without a word he sheaths his and takes for the stairs that will lead him to his Queen._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Her heart threatening to pound its way through her ribs, Dany walks away from the prying eyes below them as Jon tops the stairs. He follows, finding her pressed against the wall of a darkened hallway. Her eyes closed, chest rising and falling in frantic breaths as her hands twitch at her sides._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Her eyes fly open as soon as she senses his presence, fingers going to the faint redness blooming on his throat as his reach up to caress her cheek. Their fears spill out at once, frantic words tumbling over each other._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Are you well?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Are you alright?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I'm fine,” he assures her. “You're so pale. Is it your stomach again? It would ease my mind greatly if you would let the Maester see to you.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________She ignores his concerns for more of her own. “You weren't there when I woke. You're fighting…you looked so...angry.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“It's important to keep my skills honed. I promise you, I’m alright. Are you?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. It's just…” She shakes her head, blowing out an exasperated breath. “We cannot do this. We cannot be reduced to lovesick fools. There are too many lives at stake.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“You're right. We shouldn't.” He kisses her then, hard and demanding, swallowing her moans. She gives back as good as she gets, nearly climbing him in her need to be closer to him. It takes all his power not to ravish her right there in the hallway. He pulls away before they go too far leaving them both gasping. “Do you remember the day we met? The last thing I asked you?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He hears her smile more then sees it, his brow resting against hers. When he lifts his head to look in her eyes, he finds them sparkling. “You worried you were my prisoner.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Dany expects him to return her mirth, but he doesn't, his face solemn and serious. “I am. I have been since the moment I laid eyes on you.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Do I make you suffer?” She smirks at him, still unconvinced he isn't playing with her._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He wants to take that smirk from her lips with teeth and tongue and savor it like the sweetest candy. Instead he leans in, running his nose along her jaw to her ear. “I’ve never known a pain so sweet,” he whispers, his warm breath sending a shiver through her._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Jon. Why must you say such things?” she asks, breathless._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“When you smile I forget all the times I was alone and afraid. When you're near the pain is gone. I thought I knew what mattered before.” He pulls away from his torture of her neck, his lovely dark eyes, heavy and liquid as they stare into hers. “Then I found you. I was a fool. I never will be again. Not for anyone, or anything but you. You, I will be a fool for for the rest of my days.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Others had whispered sweet words to her before, pledged themselves to the queen, promising to love her as only she deserved. Their flattery always made her want to scoff and flick them away like flies. But not Jon. His words go straight to her heart, sinking into her bones leaving her floating in a happiness up until now she had only dreamed of knowing._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Him, she believes. Him, she loves back with all of her heart._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Fook em all as he says._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________She grabs his face, forcing their lips together in another soul rending kiss. Then his hands are on her ass, lifting her, holding her to him. He presses her up against the wall and she can feel, even through the thick leather of his surcoat, his need for her, hard and wanting. Her own need floods through her belly, low and deep, then rises to spark her every nerve. Being in his arms, having his lips and tongue devouring hers, hands gripping and pulling as if he can never get her close enough shatters all of her restraints. The composure she works so hard to maintain crumbles and she no longer cares where they are, who could see, or what wars lay ahead. She wants him. Now._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Suddenly there's a third presence in the hallway, making himself well known. His great furry head comes level to theirs, his raspy tongue lapping at their faces._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Dany shrieks as Jon's grip leaves her to catch herself as he pushes the wolf away. “Ghost! You bloody beast! Off with you!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Once she's steady on her feet laughter overtakes her at Jon’s dark and brooding face. But soon he’s laughing with her and ruffling Ghost’s snow white fur in apology, knowing he probably saved them from being caught in a very embarrassing situation._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Go hunt, you big oaf. We manage without a babysitter for now,” he orders him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Ghost eyes them suspiciously then trots off, apparently satisfied they’ll behave._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“You will be the death of me woman,” Jon grumbles, his eyes still full of delicious heat as he tries to adjust his hardened length to a more comfortable and less noticeable place within his leathers._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________For a moment she fears she’s lost this battle and will drag him to their chambers to ravish and be ravished. But somehow, probably due to the bone chilling cold seeping in through her furs her senses come back. She smooths back her hair, smirking at him. “Yes, and you, me. Now let's go.” She takes his hand and pulls him forward. “We were interrupted yesterday. It's time you and Rhaegal got acquainted.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________\---_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He looks quite uneasy, his brows drawn and lips pressed into a thin line as they approach her sons. “Pettin a dragon is one thing. I’ve been thrown from a horse once or twice, I would imagine it's much worse to be thrown from a dragon.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Dany can't help but smile at his nervousness. “If he throws you, Drogon and I will catch you.” His steps falter and his eyes go wide. She laughs,then has mercy on him, remembering the day the Harpies attacked. “You must feel him.” She stops them and lays her hand upon his chest. “Here. Feel the fire in your blood. Believe in it. You are no less dragon than you are wolf.” At his solemn nod she steps back, letting him go._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Jon does his best to take her words to heart, approaching Rhaegal as he would Ghost. He’s always felt his wolf was a part of him since the moment he stared into his shining red eyes. He cannot explain it, but feels it all the same. This time he stares into great eyes of green. They watch him closely, yet curiously._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________His hand does not shake as it did when he reached for Drogon. “Hello, Rhaegal.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The dragon accepts his touch for a time, seeming almost to enjoy it if the chattering from his throat could be taken for a hint. But then he raises up his huge head and snorts a blast of hot air straight at Jon knocking him onto his ass.  
He sits there stunned for bit as Dany’s bell-like laughter fills the air. She helps him to his feet, and he smiles despite himself. He brushes the snow off as best he can while Dany reprimands Rhaegal in a curt string of Valyrian. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The beast lays his head back down, his spines quivering, a deep purr shaking the ground under Jon’s feet._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“You’ll have to teach me some of that.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I’m afraid that would take more time than we have. There's only one word you’ll need for now, but we best wait till you're ready. Come try again, he’ll behave now.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Jon huffs, but approaches Rhaegal for a second time. “Alright, you’ve had your fun. Now I need you to help me,” he whispers to him, keeping his voice calm and deep as he rubs the shiny scales of his cheek. “Your mother won't hear of staying behind where it's safe. I need to be with her. I can't do that without you. Will you help me?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Rhaegal’s eye closes, then slowly opens again. He drops his enormous shoulder. Jon doesn't hesitate, climbing up and seating himself as best he knows how. Once he feels secure he glances down at Dany._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________She's smiling up at him proudly. “Take ahold of his spines, tightly.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He does as instructed, willing his entire body not to shake. It's just like ridin a horse. A very, very, large horse._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Ready?” she calls up._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Jon nods, worried if he speaks she’ll hear the waver that's sure to be in his voice. He doesn't know if he's ever been such a tight ball of excited nerves before._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Then a soft smooth word leaves her lips, “Sōvēs.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Muscles bunch beneath him as Rhaegal lifts his immense body from the ground. With three lumbering steps and one mighty beat of his wings they rise into the air. Jon holds on for dear life, his own muscles trembling with the effort as the giant under him continues to beat its wings with a sound like rolling thunder._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Fighting off dizziness, Jon squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. Determined to not be a scared babe he leans deeper into Rhaegal, and opens his eyes. He focuses on the glistening green scales of the dragon’s neck until his stomach settles back into its rightful place instead of fighting for space beside his hammering heart._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Only then does he dare to look below them. He’s stood upon The Wall many a time awed by the seemingly endless land and its beauty stretched out on either side. Not once could it have ever compared to this. He’s not sure anything could compare to this. Lying under the furs becoming one with Dany perhaps. His heart certainly feels near to bursting just as it does then. But seeing the world slip by like rushing water, the biting wind in his face, the weightlessness of his body..._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________An ecstatic shout escapes him of its own accord, his blood tingling in his veins, the heat of Rhaegal hard beneath his thighs. His great green wings rise and fall through the air carrying them higher and higher. Jon has never felt such euphoria._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Dany’s laughter breaks through the wind rushing past his ears. He turns to see her and Drogon quickly rising just to his left. Her smile is more brilliant than the sun. He imagines his must be only slightly dimmer._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________They soar through the skies like giant eagles, throwing shadows over the snowy land below them for what feels like hours, but mustn't be considering the sun is still high above them. Eventually they arrive back at Winterfell, slowly descending in every shrinking circles. Jon doesn't miss the dozens of spectators standing in awe, their heads thrown back to watch the marvel._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He has no doubt there will be rumblings among his people and Bannerman. Some will not be impressed their King is now a dragon rider._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Fook em, they'll get over it. Even if this wasn't needed for the war ahead, he wouldn't let their prejudices keep him from flying._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Drogon lands first with a resounding thud, the snow around him stirring to a blizzard as he flaps his wings. Rhaegal follows suit, descending much more gracefully than Jon expected._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He peels his fingers loose from his spines, they snap and crack, stiff from the effort of holding on and the bitter cold. He rubs his hands along Rhaegal's neck in gratitude and to thaw them a bit with his heat. “Thank you, my friend. I hope I was a decent enough rider to suit you.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The dragon shivers and chatters beneath him, turning his head to watch him as he climbs down. The second his legs feel as if they’ll hold him he runs to Dany, picking her up and twirling her around. Both of them laugh like children free of any cares._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He squeezes her tight then sets her back on her feet, his hands now grasping her face. “That was… I do not have words for it. How have you not just flown off and choose to stay in the skies for the rest of your days?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________She beams at his giddiness, thrilled she could help him know such happiness after his dark and troubled past. “It is certainly a temptation I must fight more often than not.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He pulls her close, pressing their freezing lips together in a kiss. His eyes are once again dark and serious when he opens them. “Thank you. For trusting me with him, for allowing me to know such freedom.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Dany wonders if he will ever fail to make her heart ache. Reaching up, she brushes back a curl that has escaped its tie. “You deserved it, and so did he. He has missed Viserion terribly. I haven’t seen him that carefree in too long. He is yours now. You have his loyalty and love just as you do Ghost’s. And mine.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I will cherish him just as I do you. I swear it.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I know,” she whispers, stretching up on tiptoe to kiss him again. He deepens it, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her close._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Jon! Jon!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________They startle apart to see a plump figure running towards them._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Jon recognizes him immediately. “Sam?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“It's Bran, come quickly!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Throwing a worried glance at Dany, Jon runs after him, soon overtaking his bent over and panting form. “Where?” he yells back, not slowing down or paying attention to painfully frozen muscles and joints._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Godswood,” Sam gasps, sucking in strangled gulps of air._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He finds Bran by the weirwood tree, seemingly whole and unharmed. Expecting him to be injured or at least as shaken as he is, Jon is almost angry to find his brother as placid as the pool beside him. “What's happened?” he barks, his heart still threatening to break through his ribs, the frigid cold still burning through his lungs and joints._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Jon can hear others drawing closer, the snow crunching under their booted feet as they run._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“He’s coming. They're all coming.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Who?” He hopes against hope his brother will dispel the dread now churning in his gut._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“The dead. They're flowing through The Wall like a river.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Where? How?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Dany, his sisters, Davos and the rest slide to a stop beside him. Bran’s dull, dark stare moves to gaze into wide, violet eyes. Jon spins around, blood rushing in his ears, drowning out his brother's words. He doesn't need to hear them. He knows. He’s seen it happen with his own eyes. And even if he hadn't, the horror on Dany's face confirms the sickening fear that threatens to drown him where he stands._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Viserion has been raised from his icy grave._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The gasps, cries, and shocked faces fade away as he pulls her into his arms. Neither say a word. There aren't any to ease this turmoil.  
But soon the other’s shouts of panic become too much. “Leave! All of you!” he roars at them._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“But, Jon! We have to—”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Now, Arya!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Dany pushes away from him, her face a stone mask, eyes lifeless and dull. “She's right. We must decide what to do.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He’s never heard her sound so weak and it shatters his heart. He steps closer, gently running his hand up her arm. “Dany, please. Give yourself a moment at least.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________She trembles beneath his touch. Cutting her eyes to his, she begs him to leave her be. One more touch, kind word, or soft look and she will crumble in front of them all._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Mercifully he retreats, casting his eyes to the ground. “How long do we have?” he asks Bran._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“A week. Maybe.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Dany pulls on all her strength, gathering all she can, yet still her voice trembles like that of a heartbroken child’s. “Drogon and Rhaegal. Can they bring him down?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I do not know. I’ve never seen such fire as he breathes.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“It's our only option.” She turns to leave, intent on ending her son’s torture and finding solace with her other children._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Dany, you cannot,” Jon begs, grabbing her arm._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Her fire rises within her and she jerks out of his grasp. “A dragon is not a slave! He has taken my son. I am the mother of dragons. I am the breaker of chains and I will free him. Even if death is his only hope.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Pain washes over her then, a wave so strong even her fire cannot withstand it. Great sobs rack her body and Jon has her in his arms an instant later. She wants to fight him, but there's no strength left within her._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He doesn't have to tell the others to leave this time. With only a few looks he knows they will alert Dany’s counsel and begin to plan. And they know the king and queen will join them later._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He takes her to the glass garden to get them out of the cold. They're both shivering hard enough to break bones from their ride, or perhaps it's just dread setting in. The garden is blessedly empty. Locking the door behind him to keep it that way he then finds the bench hidden beneath the lemon trees. Her bone deep sobs haven't stopped and each one feels as if it's ripping through his heart. He doesn't attempt to stop her though._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Instead he holds her close, rocking her, running soothing hands over her back and hair. He isn't sure if it's to comfort her or himself. Once again the earth has shifted under their feet, this time tilting far enough to throw them off the edge completely he fears._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Every time a flash of hope appears they grasp onto it desperately only to have it ripped away and replaced with darker and darker harbingers of death._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________They are caught in a storm that shows no signs of ending and he's not sure how much more either of them can take. He can feel himself drowning underneath it all and now she is too._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He needs her strength to shore up his own. He needs her to be fire. Like she usually is, standing her ground, hot, fiery, and strong. Not this ash that's slipping through his fingers now, floating along the wind and disappearing before his eyes. He cannot bear her like this. She needs to fight and once again be his fiery queen._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________But he must meet her there too. He did not come back from the dead to save his home, see his family again, and find the other half of his heart to cower like a beaten dog and have it all taken away._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He’s not sure how much time passes before her sobs fade to only wavering breaths. Enough the cold has left his bones, leaving a layer of sweat between him and his leathers._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Where are we?” she asks, her voice still edged with pain as she wipes at her face._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Taking his cloak in hand, Jon helps her dry her tears. “The glass gardens.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“It's so warm. I’d almost swear I was back in Essos.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“It's the hot springs. They run underneath and through the floors.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________She notices the lemon trees then. A wistful smile tugs at the corner of her lips and she rises from his lap. Reaching up she takes one in hand bringing it to her nose and breathing in its bright scent. “Mmmm, I love the smell of lemons. It's been so long.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“So long?” he asks, when she goes quiet again, rising to stand with her._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Since I’ve smelled them. We lived in a little house in Braavos when I was a child. It had a red door. There was a lemon tree outside my window. It was the only place I had ever felt safe. It's silly, but every time I smell lemons I feel safe again.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Jon moves behind her, wrapping his arms around her and places a kiss just below her ear. “You’ll be safe again, my love. I promise.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________She stiffens against him, “I love you for saying so, but how? How can we hope to defeat him now? He has Viserion. We have to free him, Jon, we have to!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He turns her around in his arms and pulls her closer. “I know, I know. And we will, I swear to you. I don't know how yet, but I swear to you I will not stop until he is free and the Night King is no more.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________She spins out of his arms, pacing across the cobbled floor. He watches as her fire begins to burn again, her walls going up, the queenly mask falling back into place. “Drogon and Rhaegal can bring him down. They have to. There's no other way. I doubt an ice spear would do him any damage, even if we had one.” She stops to face him, her expression so hopeful it breaks his heart. “Do you?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He scrambles to think of anything that might help her hang onto it. “No, but one of dragonglass might. Getting close enough to use it will be the challenge.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Do you remember me saying Bronn shot a bolt at Drogon?” He nods. “He used a huge wooden machine to launch it into the air. That is what we need. And bolts made of dragonglass.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“We have more than enough dragonglass. Jamie, Bronn, or both may know how to make the machine. Let's hope we have time to build it.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Dany worries her bottom lip with her teeth, her fists clenching and unclenching. “A week Bran said. Riding Viserion he could be here by night fall. What's to stop him?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Feeling the defeat as well as her Jon shakes his head. “Nothing, I’m afriad.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Her arms wrap around herself, a different type of chill seeping into her bones. “Death is marching towards us and there's nothing we can do to stop it.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Death. Death. Only death._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________Only death. ____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________Only death can pay for life! ____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The memory of those words hit her like a steel bolt to the heart. Suddenly Dany knows what she's been dismissing for weeks now. Her breath catches, her hands covering her stomach. She starts to fall her knees go so weak._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Jon catches her, fear filling his eyes. “Dany!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________She grips the straps of his cloak, her eyes glistening with tears. “Only death can pay for life.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“What?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________She laughs, but mixed with her pain it sounds hysterical, her emotions running so rampant she can't control them. “Jon! Only death can pay for life. My sweet Viserion. What he's given us! Jon!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________He scoops her up, heading towards the door, his heart in his throat. It's has to be a fever. He waited too long. He knew she was sick. Now it's taken her. You bloody fool! “We’re going to the Maester. Now!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Dany buries her face in his neck, holding him tight, then whispers words she never dreamed to speak again. “I'm not sick, I’m pregnant.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________He takes two more steps before he freezes._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________She pulls away from her hiding place. Jon is staring down at her, his expression showing a whirlwind of emotions._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“What did you say?” he asks, his voice so quiet she barely heard it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________She cups his cheek, tears falling again. This time they're happy ones. “I should have trusted you. You were right again. Our family hasn't seen it's end.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Jon lets out a strangled gasp, then hugs her tight enough to take the air from her lungs. “Gods, Dany. A babe of our own. Of my blood and yours.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“We cannot give up now, Jon. We have to fight, we have to defeat him.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________He presses his lips to her forehead then leans his own against it. “We will, I swear we will.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	9. Can't you hear me howling, babe?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany absorb the baby news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!!! 
> 
> Real life finally cooperated long enough for me to get this to you in a decent amount of time. Yay! 
> 
> This one is pretty emotional, so prepare for that. I actually cut it almost in half. The words just kept coming. It's been so long since that's happened to me, you have no idea how happy I am about it, lol. Hopefully that means I can possibly get the next chapter out just as quick. 
> 
> Most of you probably already know about this, but in case you don't, NoOrdinaryLines has put together a Jonerys fanfic awards for us. It's a great way to let your favorite authors know how much they mean to you. Nominations close on Dec 31st so dig through those bookmarks for your favs and show some wonderful authors how much you love them :) 
> 
> https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSegqfcNBpP3He_WwR1ULadcEWl8M5eb2DmKRO17DBMEEPt6WA/viewform
> 
> Hope everyone has a wonderful and safe holiday! Comments are an author's favorite gift ;)

The cold would've taken his breath the moment he stepped out of the glass gardens, if there had been any in his lungs to begin with. 

He’s forgotten how to breathe. 

_A babe._

By all the gods he would've never believed it, no matter the hope that had been flickering like a starving flame within his heart. Certainly not now, with all the seven hells bearing down upon them and more. 

Each new day that has dawned since the Dragon Queen summoned him has been fraught with either gutting darkness or stunning light. They cannot seem to find stable ground for more than a few moments at a time. He aches for just one day of peace. Just one would do. Enough for them to catch their breath.

“Where are we going?” Dany asks, her voice muffled from where her face is buried in the furs of his cloak. She begged him to let her walk, but he wouldn't hear of it. 

“To our chambers. You need to rest and you're going to let Sam look you over.”

He can't help but smile at her irritated huff. 

“We need to meet with the others, Sam looking me over can wait.”

He grunts. “How long do you think? Our babe is already weeks old. He’s waited long enough.”

Expecting a fight, he’s surprised to feel her lips turn up into a smile against his neck. “He, is it?”

Jon sucks in a shaky breath between his teeth before blowing it out. “Gods be good, I don't think my heart can handle another violet eyed girl.”

Dany’s laugh is warm honey sliding straight to his heart. Her hand grips around his neck, cold fingers slipping into his hair. “You’d love her more than life itself,” she whispers.

“Aye, I would. Or will.” His voice comes out hoarse, rough as gravel, his eyes hot and stinging. He can already see her. Silver curls bouncing, fathomless violet eyes full of innocent happiness. A smile bright enough to light the world. 

A stuttered gasp catches in Dany’s throat, her grip tightening. “You're a miracle, Jon. My miracle.” 

“Just as you are mine.”

The thickness of their emotions keep anymore words from escaping their throats until he has them behind locked doors and her safe and warm under the furs of their bed.

He’s knelt beside her, his hand resting over her stomach, hers over his, as they stare at each other with wavering smiles, eyes full and bright.

“I feel like the victim of a dream,” she whispers.

“I know, I still can't believe it,” he agrees, quiet as a sigh. As if the babe were already there sleeping between them and he dare not wake it. 

Dany’s smile grows painfully more tender. “Nonsense. You never had a doubt.” She runs the back of her fingers over his cheek. “You believed and so it is. Apparently I’m not the only one of us who can make impossible things happen.”

She's rewarded with one of those rare smiles where his eyes squint and sparkle before his lips ever have a chance to tug upwards. He catches her fingers and presses a lingering kiss to them. “I should go get Sam.”

“Just a little longer?” she pleads. “Lay down with me.”

At his worried expression she rolls her eyes playfully. “I'll not break just because we know. I’ve survived quite a few vigorous nights with—”

“Alright, alright,” he huffs, cheeks stained pink, “but for just a moment. I'm ready to put my mind at ease about one thing at least.” He climbs up beside her so carefully it's painful to watch.

She bites back a smile, her heart so full it feels as if it may burst and snuggles into his side as soon as he’s settled. It would be so much better if all their layers of clothes were gone, to feel his hard body hot against the softness of her own, but there's no time for that. “I want to keep it between us for just a few more minutes. Our secret.”

He agrees, his whispered, “Aye,” softly breaking into her ear. Strong arms pull her closer, palms running soothing trails over her back while he nuzzles into her hair. 

Letting the rise and fall of his breath calm her, she wishes they could rest within the blessed hush of each other forever. How happy they could be if the world would just fall away and leave them to be what they are. Young, blissfully in love, awaiting the child that love made with anxious joy.

Jon’s heart and mind though are tumbling about, overwhelmed by it all. He knows only one truth; love can wreck a man quicker than any blade. She’s the blood in his veins, the air in his lungs and beat of his heart. How quickly she's become everything never fails to seize his every fiber with awe. He would be nothing without her.

 _And the child._ The surge of emotions that have overtaken him knowing their babe is cradled safely in her womb… 

He sucks in a rush of air, squeezing his eyes shut as he struggles to keep it together. Having her so close, the warmth of her seeping into his bones slowly begins to work its magic on his frayed nerves. He continues to breathe in her sweet scent allowing it to pull him deeper into her calming presence.

“How do you think…?” he whispers after several minutes of silence between them.

“Our blood I suppose,” she answers, knowing exactly what he asked. She tilts her head back to gaze up at him, sliding her fingers across his jaw then into the loose curls at the back of his neck. “You're the only one who could give me this gift. You and Viserion. I believe his death paid for our child’s life.”

“That's what you meant?”

“Yes. The witch told me only death could pay for life. My first child paid for my dragon’s lives, now one of my dragons has paid for our child’s.” Seeing his brows drawn so tightly together, her tongue peeks out to lick her lips before they press into a firm line. “You don't believe it?”

Jon sighs, leaning down to kiss to her forehead. “I didn't really believe it before,” he whispers against her skin, “but it's not that. I just...if it is true...I don't want it to be. It would mean you would have to lose Drogon and Rhaegal, or possibly someone else we care deeply for for us to have more children.” He pulls away, staring at her with eyes of liquid obsidian while his hand cups her cheek, his thumb rubbing across her bottom lip. “That’s too high a price to pay. I don't want you to have to go through that. I don't want to go through that.”

“Maybe neither of us will have to. If the babe and I live—”

“You will. Both of you,” he cuts in, his words hard and insistent, as is the hand gripping her chin. 

She pulls it away, knowing he meant no harm and kisses his palm. The loss of their mothers will hang heavy between them in the months to come, adding weight to the already burdensome list of troubles nipping at their heels. To ease both their minds she murmurs the only hope she has, “Perhaps the curse will be broken after our child comes into the world.”

“Aye, I like that much better.” 

They go quiet again, neither wanting to stir their troubled thoughts further. 

Jon turns towards her, fingers finding their way to the silver strands of her hair. He watches it shimmer and shine in the weak sunlight coming through the window. “We’re supposed to marry tonight.”

Dany has lost herself in the way his dark lashes brush against his cheeks and how such a small thing can cause the feeling of warmth that grows within her chest. Her voice comes from somewhere far away. “With everything that's happened, we can wait if you’d like.”

“Would you be alright if we didn't?”

Her heart nearly stops having only heard his last few words. “Didn’t wait?” she asks, hopes that's what he meant. He nods and the air rushes out of her. “Of course I would. Why would you think—”

“It’s barely midday and it's been more difficult than most for you. I'd understand if you needed time.”

There's more. Dany can feel it hovering just behind his lips, see it fall like a shadow across his eyes. This man she loves so dearly holds his thoughts hostage, not to protect himself, but others. She would gladly spend all of her forevers unraveling each and every one that fills his heart and mind. All he needs is a little patience on her part, a tender touch, or an encouraging look and the walls slip, letting his heart through. 

This time it only takes is a few quiet moments and a fingertip tracing his brow. 

“If we wait, and something happens to me… I don't want…” He stops, breathing deeply, his eyes closing. His whole body seems to shudder when he Iets it go. “I swore I’d never father a bastard. I won't leave you or our child to live with that shame.”

Heart aching, Dany grasps his chin, forcing his eyes up. “Jon. We would never feel shame because of you. Never.”

“I know you wouldn't, but everyone else would judge you both. I don't ever want you to have to deal with that. To have to explain to our child. For them to have to hear it.” He pulls his chin away, tucking his head, hiding from her. “I remember the day they told me, fath...Lord Stark, and Maester Luwin. I was only four. It feels like yesterday.”

She wants to stop him. To tell him there's no need to open such deep scars, but she doesn't. She knows sometimes it helps to open them. All the nights they spent secreted away on the ship together are proof enough. The hurt they spilled into each other's ears knowing they were truly being understood for the first time in their lives was healing for both of them in ways neither had ever imagined. So she listens to his voice, uneven and hollow, as she slips her fingers between his.

“I had asked Robb, in front of some of the lords no less, what I could do to make our mother love me like she did him and our sister. I didn't understand why she never smiled at me, held me in her lap and told me a story, or tucked me into bed.”

Bottom lip held fiercely between her teeth, Dany holds her breath to contain her cries of anger and anguish, her heart shattering into a thousand pieces for the little boy he once was. 

“She heard me ask and she was furious. She lost her composure, screaming at me that I wasn’t her son and I never would be. He actually held me that day while I tried not to cry. Even then he didn't tell me. A boy crying for his mother and he couldn't bring himself to at least tell me she had loved me.”

Holding him close, Dany wonders about their childhoods and the unfairness of it all. Running as she and Viserys always did she never was privy to the relationships between mothers and their children. She knew there was something missing from her life, a hole that should not have been there, but poor Jon. To see a mother's love heaped upon your own brothers and sisters, day in and day out, and have it denied you. Only thoughts of burning Lady Stark to ashes soothe her.

“Lady Catelyn barely ever looked at me, and only once in the sixteen years I was under her roof did she call me by my name and that was to tell me I should've fell from the tower instead of Bran.” He clears his throat and sniffs quietly. “If I die, you’ll need to marry again, have more children. I can't leave this world knowing my son or daughter may suffer the same way I did.”

She pulls him from his hiding place once more, this time with a gentle hand to his cheek, though her words are fierce. “Our children will never suffer what we did. Never. We'll make sure of it. Regardless, you're not going to die and we are going to marry. Tonight.”

His smile is so sweet it hurts all the way down to her bones. “Thank you.”

Dany shakes her head, swallowing down her tears. “There is nothing to thank me for, Jon.” She pulls him closer, leaving his lips a breath from hers. “I love you. I wish you knew how much.”

“I do. Same as I love you.” 

He kisses her then. One so sweet and soft she swears nothing has ever been so tender. Yet she burns. She always burns. His lips cannot touch her, his tongue cannot dance with hers, his hands cannot roam her body without her burning for him. Without her aching to be filled by him in every way possible. 

He burns for her just the same. His kiss turns more desperate, hands gripping the fabric of her dress. 

Just when she thinks he’ll give them both what they want, he stops, his breath hot and panting across her cheek. She whines like a spoilt child. 

“I know,” he groans, “Later. I promise.” She gets one more small kiss from his full lips. “Once you're my wife.” 

Dany smiles, smoothing back a few of his raven curls her fingers loosened. She doesn't want to spoil their small scrap of peace, but there's other things they must talk about and she’d rather do it just the two of them. 

“What will we do about Viserion?”

His brow furrows, his whole body rising then falling with a heavy sigh. “I hate it, but your other sons may be our only hope. I’ll have my smiths begin making the armor today. It shouldn't take them as long as I feared.”

“Why?”

“Well,” he hesitates, his fingers playing with a lock of her hair, “you don't need armor anymore, so that will save them some time.”

She shoves against his chest, pushing him back. “And why not?”

Jon scowls, his usual brooding mask firmly in place. “You're not going.” 

Sparks fly from the violet depths of her eyes. “Nothing has changed, Jon. I will go.”

Something primal boils up within him, dark and unyielding. He rises from the bed, nowhere near as gently as he laid upon it and turns on her. “You will not.” His voice was as cold and harsh as the frozen land he calls home.

Dany lies rooted to the bed for several heartbeats, shocked by the force of his anger. It doesn't last long, she scrambles from under the covers, spitting fire like the dragon she is. “You dare tell me what I will and will not do? I will save my son, Jon Snow. I do not have a choice.”

He does not cower from her wrath, his own fiery blood fueling him. “You do have a choice! You stay here and I go.” 

It hits her then, pushing her back onto the bed. Just a flicker in his eyes, the crease between them. The twitch of his fingers, the tortured edge his words held. Fear has him in its deathly grip. He only wishes to keep her and their babe safe.

Her heart breaks for him. He has been tossed in this riotous storm for far too long. So many of the pillars he clung to for strength have been brought down around his feet, nothing more than crumbled stone. Or stolen from him altogether. She will help him rebuild them anew, help him remember who and what he is no matter how painful it may be for them both. She will be his strength when he has none.

He shifts on his feet, the weight of what’s filling her eyes pushing him off balance and sending a rock of dread dropping into the pit of his stomach. “Do not, Daenerys. Do not look at me that way with those eyes. You cannot ask this of me.” 

“I'm not asking,” she whispers, her tone kind, knowing how much the words will hurt him.

Jon fears this constant spin between love and terror will drive him mad. He shakes his head, jaw clenching as he begins to pace the room, his steps heavy and clipped. A beast locked in a cage knowing he has no hope of release.

“You promised me,” she charges softly, hoping her words find him amongst the turmoil, “and I you. Remember? Would you go back on your word, or ask the same of me?”

Her strength is a sword and it cuts him off at the knees. Still he does not give, even as he feels the fight begin to drain from him like blood from a wound. She must see reason. He goes to her, fist clenched at his chest, pounding with each word. “That was before. You cannot. Not now. Not with our babe.”

She stands resolute, ever a queen. “I must, you know I must. There is no other way.”

Fear licks at him like flames, sending a terrible panic to fill his heart. She will not bend, not for him, not for anything. The knowledge strikes another spark of anger, a last feeble attempt at resistance. “You would risk the life of one child to end the suffering of another?” he accuses harshly.

Dany shakes her head, saddened to see him grasping at such straws. “Jon. It is the suffering of our people I must end, not just my son's. You know this.”

“And what of mine?” he roars, face flushed, his whole body trembling.

Her heart in danger of ripping apart, she takes his tortured face in hers hands, attempting to smooth the tension from his brow. “The sufferings of kings and queens must come after those of their people, no matter how sharp their edge, or deep their cut.”

He feels himself break at her gently given words, a cord snapping in half as easily as a twig under his boot. His head falls against hers. “Dany, please.” Never have his own ears heard his voice sound so wretched. “I cannot lose you. I cannot lose you both.”

A gentle hand runs through his curls, another caresses his cheek. “You will not lose either of us, and we will not lose you. You must have faith, my love. We will defeat our enemies. And we will rule. Together we will birth a dynasty the likes of which the world has never known.” Her words flow from her sweet lips as soft as silk, yet with the hardness of steel. He lifts his head to find her eyes as dark as a thundercloud despite the love they hold. Lovely and lethal. 

The sight of her this way tears a memory loose from the corners of his mind. _A warrior princess._ That's what he had decided he wanted. That is most assuredly what he has and he knows without a doubt he has lost this battle as well as he is lost to her; irrevocably.

He grasps onto the only firm ground he has. “You're not going alone.” 

“I never thought I would.”

His shoulders fall, curving in, drawing him closer, while his fingers gather her dress in their grip. “I don't think you realize how easily you could end me. You will be my death,” he breathes against her cheek. “Maybe not today, but one day. When you leave this world, I will follow you.”

Her throat works hard to swallow down the lump that formed from his words. “I know,” she whispers, voice cracking. She bites at her trembling lip, cursing it. “Just as I will you.” She runs her hand up his chest, settling it over his heart, letting the strong, steady beat ground her. “We’re two halves of the same whole. There's no hope of ever separating us again now that we're together.”

He catches her face in his hands and her lips with his. With his mouth on hers he feels her blazing hope burn through him, turning his fears to ash in its wake. He isn't sure how long it will last, but he’ll cling to it as long as he has strength. 

Breaking away before the tide can turn on him again, he presses his forehead to hers. “I’ll be back with Sam shortly. Stay here. Promise me.” 

His urgent tone catches her heart. She squeezes his fingers. “I promise, my love.”

He nods and lets her go. She watches the door close behind him, fingers running through the soft fur of his forgotten cloak beside her.

 

\---

 

He finds them cloistered in the war room, the tension thick enough to slice his sword through. All of them freeze their nervous pacing or fidgeting at the sight of him expect for Sansa and Missandei. Both hurry towards him as soon as the door clicks closed.

“Is she well?”

“How is she?”

He gives them what he hopes is a comforting smile even if it is small, their concern lifting him a bit. “She’s stronger than ten of me put together, but I insisted that she rest for a while, much to her annoyance.” 

A wave of relief flows through the room, everyone relaxing a fraction, but only a fraction.

“Please tell me you weren't foolish enough to leave her alone,” Tyrion charges, “She's sure to be on Drogon's back and halfway to the Wall by now.” 

Davos takes a threatening step towards him. “You should watch your tongue, dwarf, the King is no fool.”

Jon waves him off, his tone and expression somber. “It's alright. We're all a bit on edge and less likely to hold our tongues,” he says, staring down at Tyrion. “Two of my guards stand outside the door. I left Ghost there as well. He won't let her leave, I assure you.” Her Hand doesn't look too comforted, but Jon wastes no more time worrying about it, turning to Missandei, his countenance softening. “If you would, I’m sure she’d like to have you with her.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” She slips from the room, as Missandei always does, soft as a breeze on quick and silent feet.

He eyes Sam next. “I’d feel better if you’d look her over as well.”

Sam’s eyebrows disappear under his shaggy hair. “Me? Wouldn't the maester be better?”

“She trusts you because I do. If it's anythin beyond your skills, I’ve no doubt you’ll consult him,” Jon says, turning back to open the door.

“Well, of course,” Sam sputters, hurrying to follow him.

“You're not leaving?” Sansa asks, desperation lacing her voice.

“I need to know she's well. Without her we’re lost. We’ll all be back soon.”

“We need to be making plans, Jon,” Arya demands.

“I know. Work together. Discuss our options. You know what we have and what we don't. The Queen and I trust you all for a reason.” He opens the door, then shuts it again, bringing Sam to an abrupt halt to keep his nose from being cut off. “One thing you can start on is trenches. I want a ring of dragon fire around us as soon as possible.”

Similar looks of concentration fall over all their faces, some nodding to themselves or each other. Davos is the only one to acknowledge his words though. “We can do that. But hurry back. We all know trenches won't be enough.”

 

\---

 

“She's pregnant,” he blurts out the second they're out of earshot.

Sam spins round, eyes bulging. “What now?”

“Daenerys. She's pregnant. I'm going to be a father.”

His friend's whole face lights up just before he's engulfed in a hug. “Jon! Oh, Jon, that's wonderful news.”

He hugs him back, giving him a few hardy pats. “Thank you, Sam. I'm scared shitless.” 

They pull apart at Sam's chuckle. “Well, yeah. I can certainly understand that. Not the best time to be havin babies, is it?”

Whatever happiness had seized him leaves like a gust of wind. He catches Sam’s wince as he drops his head and continues across the yard. “We want to keep it between us, you, and Missandei for now which is why I asked you to look her over. Can you handle it?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Sam huffs, struggling to keep up with Jon’s hurried pace. “Would it be alright to have Gilly help too? She has had a baby, you know. Havin a woman's perspective in times like these is wise I think.”

Jon nods, grinning despite himself. “Of course, that's not a bad idea. Just remember. Only between us. Not even my sisters or Bran.”

“Oh, I don't think it'll matter if I tell Bran or not. He’ll know soon if he doesn't already.”

One of his guards runs towards them, cheeks and nose stained red from the cold. “Your Grace. Beggin your pardon. Can I have a word?”

Jon stops, letting out a weary sigh, more than a little reluctant. He turns to Sam. “Go on up. Tell her I’ll be there shortly.” His friend nods and hurries off, Jon looks to the guard. “Make it quick…?”

The man smiles. “Harald, your Grace.” 

“Harald.”

“You’ve been so busy I hated to bother you, but the boy won't hush,” he tells him, moving towards the other side of the yard.

Jon follows him, grudgingly. “What boy?”

“He arrived a week ago, Your Grace. A bastard. Been spoutin off about goin beyond the Wall ever since. Said he’d sent a raven, but we never got one about him.”

He grabs the guard by his cloak, jerking him to a halt. “My height, short brown hair, and blue eyes?”

“Aye, Your Grace. Th..that's the one.”

“Where is he?”

“In the cells, your Grace.”

He shoves him away then stalks across the yard. Harald hurries along behind him, puffing out apologies his King completely ignores. 

“Gendry?” he calls into the dank and dim as soon as he enters. The air is colder here, wet, the putrid stench of waste turning his stomach. Knowing his friend has been locked up in such a place for a week turns it all the more.

A scuffle of feet on packed earth reaches his ears, then a hand appears, waving from the third cell down. 

Jon stands before him a moment later, taking in his haggard appearance, glaring at the state he’s in. He's filthy. Bright blue eyes stare out of a gaunt face and meet his, widening with worry. 

A tight lipped grin pulls at Jon’s lips. “I was beginning to fear you were dead.”

A burst of air leaves Gendry, a relieved smile shining bright from underneath all the grime. “Thought for sure you were. Never been happier to know I was wrong.”

“Aye, me either.” Jon’s smile lasts only a moment before he’s barking at the guard. “Well, open the fookin gate.” 

Harald nearly wets himself, scrambling to grasp the keys and bring them to the lock. “Of course, Your Grace. So sorry, Your Grace.”

Just before Jon decides to slam the fool’s head into the steel bars and do it himself he gets it open. Gendry hurries out, still smiling. “Appreciate that.” 

Jon grabs him up in a fierce hug. “I'm so sorry about this, if I had known you were here...”

Gendry’s shock only lasts a moment before he returns it. ”It's alright. I promise I’ve stayed in much worse over the years.” He pulls away, his movements quick and jerky not used to affection. “I was dry, had a place to lay down, and they fed me once a day.” He laughs it off. “It was kind of relaxin not havin any work to do.”

Jon sighs, shaking his head and slaps him on the shoulder. Then he turns his other palm up towards the guard. “The keys.” Harald lays them in his outstretched hand, his own shaking like a leaf. “Get in the cell.” Confusion blooms across the guard’s face freezing him to his spot. Jon’s eyebrows raise. “Are you refusing your king’s orders?” Harald’s head immediately starts shaking as if he's having a seizure and he practically runs into the cell. Jon closes it, the clang of metal ringing harsh in their ears. “Enjoy your stay, Harald. I’ll try to remember to tell someone you're here.”

With that he slings an arm around a grinning Gendry leading him out. “How does a hot bath and warm food sound? Perhaps some clean clothes as well,” he suggests, putting some space between them, his nose curled. The poor bastard smells worse than horse piss and pig shit run together.

Gendry looks for all the world as if Jon just offered him a crown. “That’d be right nice, Your Grace. Thank you.”

With a hand to his chest, Jon stops him, face somber and earnest. “It’s just Jon.” His eyes drop and he takes a deep breath. “What I asked of you. Sending you back, alone, with no weapons, in that place.” He meets Gendry's eyes once more. “I don't know that shame has ever haunted me like it did as I sat up there freezin for two days. You saved our asses. We’d all be dead if it weren't for you. A man I owe my life to gets to bloody well call me by my name.”

A bright red blush rises up Gendry's neck and across his cheeks. He hangs his head for a moment, unable to meet Jon’s eyes. “It was an honor, truly.” He straightens then, standing as tall as his stocky body allows. “I’d do it again tomorrow if you needed me to.”

Jon gives him a small smile, grateful for another loyal friend. “I’ve no plans to ever go back there and I shouldn't ask after what you’ve already done, but I do need you.”

“Anythin.”

“We need armor, and lots of it. For me, the queen, and her dragons.”

Gendry stumbles back, as if Jon’s words shoved him, mouth agape, eyebrows nearly to his hairline. “For...for the dragons?”

“I know it's a lot, but I promised her I’d do everythin I could to keep her sons alive. We cannot allow the other two to fall into his hands. One undead dragon is already more than enough.”

He watches as Gendry swallows hard. “Undead?” he asks, his voice wavering.

Jon nods, suddenly feeling the weight of it all bearing down on him again. He stares at the muddy snow under his boots. “We found out just an hour ago. He belongs to the Night King now. The Wall has fallen. They'll be here in a week, maybe less.”

“Seven fuckin hells,” Gendry breathes out, staring into nothing. He turns to Jon, determination now etched into his face. “There’s no time for a bath or food. Show me to the forge.” 

Jon manages a smile and slaps him on the shoulder once more. “You're a right proper friend, Gendry, but I wouldn't be if I let you keep walking around hungry and smellin like you do. Besides, I have a feeling my sister might want to hug ya when she sees ya. You’d both probably prefer you be clean for that.”

Shock once again clouds Gendry's features. “Si...sister?”

“Arya. She said you two traveled together for a time.”

Gendry nods, dumbstruck, his voice sounding if it’s coming through a strainer. “I thought she was dead.”

“So did I, but I should've known better. They don't make any tougher than her.”

With a shake of his head, a smile lights Gendry's face. “No, they do not. She still got that little sword of hers?”

“Aye, she sure does.”

“Won’t be long she'll be pokin me full of holes with it. I'm real good at pisses her off,” he laughs.

Jon looks at him, all humor gone. “If I were you, I’d try hard not to be doin that anymore. Trust me on that one.”

Gendry’s eyes nearly fall out of his head as he shakes it. “Your Grace, you know I’d never—”

He cuts off his needless worry. “It's not my wrath you’d have to fear, my friend. By the time she was done with you there’d be nothing left for me. She's an assassin.” He shudders. “A very creative one.”

Ever so slowly a smile begins to stretch Gendry's face, pride filling his eyes. 

_Seven bloody hells._

__

__

_Where’s Tyrion and his wine when you need them?_


	10. Eyes always seeking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More baby aftermath and Dany meets Lyanna Mormont :) Also some battle plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than I wanted it to. Everytime I thought I had it finished, my muse decided I wasn't. Next chapter should be all fluff and smut though, so yay! Hope you enjoy it, always fun to hear what you think :)

Dany had never been happier to see her friend come through her door. Her queenly mask fell at once and she found herself sobbing in Missandei’s arms. She thought there were no more tears to cry after pouring out her grief all over Jon while he held her in the gardens. She was wrong. 

But it wasn't just grief. It was also a terrifying hope, as fragile and thin as the bones of a bird, yet it fluttered within her chest strong and determined. 

“I'm sorry.” She breathes, the air coming and leaving her in in short, shaky bursts. “Learning the worse and best all within an hour has made a mess of me.”

Missandei’s hands still against her back. “The worst and best? I don't understand, your Grace.”

Dani pulls away, moving back to sit on the bed. “Jon Snow has once again proven me wrong. I'm with child,” she whispers to her dearest friend, a soft smile lighting her face.

Missandei’s shock is clear, golden brown eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Dany giggles, unable to hold down the bubbling excitement that refuses to be ignored. 

Her friend's shock turns to joy, her own smile wide now, eyes glistening. “Your Grace. Truly?” she asks, sitting beside her and covering Dany’s hands with her own.

She nods her head, lips tucked between her teeth to keep more tears at bay and her smile somewhat contained.

Missandei wraps her in another hug, squeezing tighter than she ever has. “I'm so happy for you. For both of you. Is he pleased?”

A short laugh escapes Dany. “He couldn't be happier.” She sits back again, wiping at her eyes with trembling fingers as she shakes her head. “How a heart that's been broken so many times can hold so much love…”

Missandei’s head tilts, a soft knowing smile on her lips. “The same as yours. I feared you were destined to walk this world alone, that no man would ever be your equal. He is truly worthy of you, Your Grace.” 

“But am I worthy of him?” Dany asks, her voice cracking, eyes closed and fresh tears flowing. 

“Of course you are. Why would you say such a thing?”

Dany’s breath catches. “He is so afraid, Missandei. We fought and I hated every moment of it,” she whispers.

“What happened?”

“He wants to take Rhaegal and Drogon and fight that demon all on his own. He wants me to stay here to keep our child and I safe.”

“Your Grace, surely you do not blame him for wanting such?”

Dany shakes her head. “No, of course not,” she sighs. “I want the same for him. But neither of us can have what we want. We must fight, both of us, together. It's the only way.”

“You’ve never failed before, you will not this time.”

“I’ve never faced an enemy such as this. The Night King is not just some man who thinks himself better than the rest. And now he has my Viserion too. My sons and I must kill their brother,” she gasps, traitorous tears falling again. “And Jon is boiling with worry that he’ll die before we’re married and our child will be a bastard in the eyes of Westeros. Even with everything that's happened today, we will marry tonight. I need to give him whatever peace I can.”

Missandei pulls her queen close again, letting her rest against her shoulder while she rubs her arm. There’s no comfort she can give her concerning Viserion, no matter how much she wishes there were, so she focuses on the rest instead. “Such a horrible thing to punish a child for their parents choices. As if they choose who creates them. You should banish that idea as soon as you take the throne.”

Dany huffs, sitting up with a smile. “We will. Along with many other foolish notions.”

A tentative knock sounds on the door. 

“Enter,” Dany calls. 

The merry, but nervous face of Samwell Tarly peeks inside, his meek and constant shadow, Gilly hovers behind him. 

“Come in, both of you, please,” Dany greets them with a wave and a small smile of encouragement. 

They shuffle in, shutting the door behind them. “Jon asked for me to check on you,” Sam starts, bouncing on his feet and worrying his hands together, “if you're alright with it. He’ll be here soon. One of the guards needed him for a moment.”

“Of course I am,” Dany assures him. “He told you why?”

“Oh yes! We’re so happy for you, Your Grace. For both of you. That baby will be the luckiest in all of Westeros havin you and Jon for parents.”

Gilly’s smile lights her pretty face as she nods enthusiastically behind him.

“Shall we get the uncomfortable bits over with then?” he asks.

Missandei stands up moving to the head of the bed while Dany lays down. “We shall,” she says, smiling in hopes it will ease all their nerves. “Should I remove my cloth—”

“Oh no, no, no, Your Grace!” Sam exclaims, eyes nearly falling out of his bright red face. “It's too early for that yet.”

The women all exchange glances, eyes twinkling. But Dany’s mirth vanishes as she looks at Sam again, a wave of guilt threatening to drown her. 

He’s a good man, Jon’s best friend, and she and she alone burned his father and brother alive. 

She sits up, worrying her lips with her teeth. “Before we start… Sam, I need to speak with you alone.”

Gilly and Missandei move to leave the room as she watches a flurry of emotions dance across Sam’s full face. Then his eyes widen, and she knows he knows. His still rosy cheeks jiggle as he shakes his head and holds his hands out to Gilly and Missandei. They both freeze. “It's alright, there's no need for this, Yer Grace.”

Dany eyes him, tilting her head. “Jon?”

“A raven, from my mother,” he answers quietly.

She winces. Not only did she leave a son with a father and brother, but a woman without a husband and child. It takes her a few breaths to reign in her emotions, to put her mask on, but a queen must face the consequences of her actions, good or bad. 

She meets his unsettled expression head on, but keeps the authoritative tone from her words. “Regardless, I would have you understand. I would apologize.”

“Please don't, Yer Grace,” he begs. “I know you have been without family most of your life, and I’ve no wish to make light of that, but…” His chubby fingers dance and twitch at the end of his meaty hands, his eyes trained on the wood beams that cross the ceiling. The sight makes her heart ache. “Well, sometimes...havin family is worse than not,” he rushes out, the words tumbling like stones into a bucket. “My father had a black heart. The world is a better place without him in it. I'm not sure what he did to offend you, but if you’d left him alive I’ve no doubt you would've come to regret it.”

“He's speakin true, Yer Grace,” Gilly pipes up. “His father was a hateful man. He’d rather Sam be dead than be his son.” 

Dany’s brows crease, Missandei’s too. 

“He never liked me, let alone loved me,” Sam admits. “He told me I could take the black or he’d take me into the woods. He never said it, but I knew that meant he’d kill me. I wasn't good enough to be his heir.”

She’d regretted killing Lord Tarly from the moment she learned his son was Jon’s closest friend. Not anymore. Having this go much different than she expected, Dany is at a loss for words for a moment, but she finally finds them. “I gave them a choice, kneel or die. Even after several urgings from myself and my Lord Hand, they refused. I could not waver, if they would not. For whatever pain that caused you and your mother I am truly sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Don't be. I felt nothing hearing about my father's end and only a little at my brother's. He did not have our father’s black heart, but he never protected me from it either, or my mother or sister.” He crosses his arms over his wide girth and rocks on his feet. “Even if I had felt anythin against you, Yer Grace, it’d be gone now that I know you. Yer every bit has good and honorable as Jon, and he loves you. That alone is enough for me,” he declares with a small smile.

She nods, smiling in return. “I’m still not sure I deserve your kindness, but I'm grateful for it, and any friend of Jon’s is a friend of mine.” 

That brings a bright glow to his cheeks as he studies the floorboards under his feet, suddenly finding them very interesting. 

Hoping to move them onto better things she lays down again. “Shall we get back to it. Jon won't be happy with me if I don't let you do this.”

They all share a chuckle and Sam wrestles his embarrassment into submission, stepping forward to get to work. Gilly comes and sits at the end of the bed, asking questions about how Dany has been feeling and any changes she's noticed to keep them relaxed and occupied while Sam hovers beside her checking what he can; her temperature, pulse, breathing, and then gently palpitating her stomach. Missandei keeps watch at the head of the bed.

“You an the little one both seem to be doing well, Your Grace,” Sam tells her, smile wide. “I’m thinking yer two months along. Hopefully the sickness will leave you soon. I’d like you to eat a bit more though and rest more too. Whenever you can. I know things aren't ideal for that right now, but it's important,” he stresses.

Dany scoffs. “If it were up to Jon I’d be locked in this room for the next seven months,” she says, good naturedly, rolling her eyes. 

The others laugh, knowing she's not far from the truth. 

Then she clutches at Sam's sleeve, eyebrows knitted with worry and fear, eyes welling with more tears. “My mother, Lyanna, they died bringing us into this world. And my first babe...the witch...he did not live.”

Missandei’s hand comes to rest on her shoulder, while Gilly rubs her leg. Sam also places a comforting hand over hers, patting it. “Well now, I can understand your fears, but there's no witches round here, are there? And even if there were, Jon wouldn't let em within a hundred miles of you. And yer not your mother, or Lyanna. We’re all going to take the best of care of you. It's all gonna be alright, Yer Grace.”

“I want to have such faith as yours, Sam. I do, but—”

Then Jon is in the room, the hopeful expression he walks in with growing quite fierce seeing her red, puffy eyes leaking tears down her already wet cheeks. She can no more control the gasp that leaves her at the sight of him, or the hand that reaches for him than the beat her own heart. She’d done her best to push it aside, but when he'd left her earlier it was as if he’d torn her in half. 

“What’d you do to her?” he barks at them, rushing around the bed and going to her side, fretful hands hovering about her.

She soothes her own down his face. “Shhhh, my love. They did nothing wrong. It's just a silly woman’s fears.”

He scoops her into his arms, holding her close as he rises then sets them on the bed, her in his lap. She suddenly feels as if she can breathe again. He doesn't seem to care their friends are watching. With a gentle hand he holds her head to his chest, his cheek pressed against her hair. “What did I tell you, love?” he whispers. “You will both live. Our babe will be healthy and strong just like their mother. If I must have faith, so must you.”

She tilts her face up into his warm neck, breathing in his scent letting it ground her. She squeezes him tighter. “I know, I'm sorry. It's so hard to keep the fears at bay.”

“Aye, it is.” He kisses the top of her head, his hand running soothing circles over her back. “But we'll be brave. Father said there was no shame in fear, what matters is how we face it. And the only time a person can be brave is when they're afraid. So we'll be very, very brave.”

A small and pitiful noise leaves Dany as she burrows into him further. After a moment she answers him with a strained whisper, “Yes, we will.”

Jon wraps his hand around Sam’s arm when he moves to leave. “I'm sorry, again. I have not been the friend you deserve lately. Thank you for being here, for helping, despite that. All of you,” he adds, eyeing Missandei and Gilly.

They all smile softly at him, Sam blushing and hanging his head. “It's alright. We know it's not us you're cross with and considering what you're facin, you need all the help you can get,” he says.

“Aye, we do.” 

“Sam,” Daenerys says, not bothering to move an inch from her peaceful place on Jon’s lap. “We’ll be needing you to write up some more scrolls.”

His smile grows. “I’ve already started, Your Grace. Stayed up most the night. I redid the one claiming him heir, started one for your marriage,” He looks to Jon. “and one to legitimize you. I just need to know what you want your name to be and for you both to sign them.”

All eyes are suddenly on him and Jon squirms under the pressure. “I don't know,” he sighs, burdened, his face twisted with distress. “Bran said my mother named me Aegon. I don't understand it, but besides my life it's all she gave me. I feel like I should keep it somehow. Honor her. But Lord Stark, father….Jon’s the only one I’ve ever known. I want to honor him too. But it's simple and plain. Like me.”

Dany sits up, grasping his chin with a gentle hand, forcing his eyes to hers. “Do not sell yourself short, Jon. Not anymore. You are trueborn. The blood in your veins runs rich with two of the greatest houses Westeros has ever known. There is nothing wrong with your name. It's strong and steadfast.” 

He smiles, it’s small yet full of love as he leans his forehead against hers. For a moment they forget they're not alone, soaking up the nearness of each other, eyes closed, breathing slow and deep.

Missandei clears her throat, in her discreet and delicate way. They reluctantly separate, but only a bit.

Jon still only has eyes for her, her opinion meaning more to him than anyone else's. “You're Dany to me, Daenerys to the rest of the world. How about I be Jon to you, my family and friends, and maybe put the two of them together for Westeros? Jaegon? Jon with Aeg in the middle. Stark, with a little Targaryen thrown in. What d’you think?”

When she smiles it's like watching a rose bloom. “I think you are very clever.” 

“Yeah?” he whispers.

Instead of voicing her agreement she hums it, her lips pressed to his in a kiss. 

“King Jaegon Targaryen,” Sam says, weighing the name on his lips. “I like it.”

“A name fit for a king, Your Grace,” Missandei agrees.

Gilly just smiles, nodding happily.

Jon grasps Sam’s arm again. “Will you marry us? Tonight?”

Sam sputters, eyes wide and mouth gaping like a fish. “I...I’d be honored, but are you sure you wouldn't rather the maester do it? I don't know that it’d be official if I did it.”

“You’re official,” Jon says, looking to Dany. They smile at each other, both nodding before turning their smiles on Sam again. “The king and queen say so. We’ll have a royal wedding after the war is won if someone takes issue with it.”

“Well, alright, if you're sure. Should I do old gods, the new, both?” he asks, then looks to Dany. “Forgive me, Your Grace, I’m not sure what gods you follow.”

“I’ve never followed any gods, though our family held to the faith of the Seven before the end. I'm fine with whatever Jon is comfortable with,” she says. She gazes at her future husband, eyes bright and brimming with love. “As long as I’m his wife at the end.”

Once again they forget themselves as Jon kisses her, as chastely has he can yet holding her to him as if she's the most precious gift his hands have ever held. To him she is. 

The others wait patiently, letting them have their moment, their hearts full to bursting seeing their friends so happy. They know of no others who deserve it more.

Just a short minute later Jon lets her go, but keeps a hand to her cheek, his thumb smoothing over her soft skin. “I was raised with the old gods like all the Starks before me, so if you're alright with it, I’d love to marry you before the heart tree in the godswood.”

Dany takes his hand in hers and places a kiss to his palm, her eyes never leaving his. “I’d love that too.”

\---

After assuring Jon his soon to be wife and their child were both healthy then shoring up a few more details for the wedding the group finally make their way to join the others. Planning their next steps can no longer wait. Someone seems to have been too impatient to wait on them however.

Dany leans closer to Jon. “Who’s this?” she whispers, as the lady in question stops, letting the king and queen come to her not far outside the great hall.

Another stubborn, hard headed northern to win over apparently.

Jon’s confused for a moment, having been concentrating on their troubles and not really focusing on his surroundings. He could walk every inch of his home blindfolded and never misstep. He looks up, falters, then grins and keeps walking. “That, is the Lady Mormont. And she is every bit as fierce as you are, my love. Maybe more so.”

Dany’s raised eyebrow says she doesn't believe him. His grin only gets bigger.

They reach her quickly, Jon and Dany stopping, while Sam, Gilly, and Missandei skirt around them. 

“Lady Mormont, tis good to see you again,” Jon greets her pondering for the first time if the woman she's named after was as strong as she is. Something tells him she was. The thought causes a warmth to fill his heart.

The little lady nods, mouth pinched and brows dropped. Dany has to bite back a smirk wondering if all Northerners brood like their King. 

Jon turns to her, smiling pleasantly, keeping his manners up. “Your Grace, this is Lyanna Mormont, Lady of Bear Island, and cousin to your Commander.”

 _Lyanna._ Dany's eyes widen at that, she hopes not enough to be noticed. Somehow she stays focused on their guest, not looking towards Jon as she wishes. Inclining her head, her smile open, she greets her. “I'm pleased to meet you M’lady.”

Lyanna’s dark eyes narrow slightly, but she does manage a nod.

“We missed you yesterday,” Jon remarks, hoping to keep any tension from building between the formidable ladies.

“As you know, winter is here, Your Grace,” Lyanna returns, her voice as hard as her stare. “Travel isn't easy these days. I apologize.”

He shakes his head, smile slighter now. “No need for apologies, M’lady. Just glad you and your men arrived safely.”

“I’ve heard you bent the knee.” 

Neither Dany or Jon are surprised at her words or biting tone, but still must work to suppress their reactions. Dany her ire and Jon his disappointment. 

He drops his eyes for only a moment, then meets her glinting ones head on. “I did. With good reason.”

Lyanna doesn't look like she would agree with his good reason no matter what it was. Her eyes cut to Daenerys, her face still stony and resolute. “You saved his life, and lost one of your dragons.”

“I did,” Dany replies calmly, allowing one of the knots in Jon’s chest loosens a bit.

“Why? Why risk yourself and all your dragons for him?”

Dany returns the lady's stare, lacing her fingers together under her breast. Jon holds his breath. “Because I know his worth. The North and all of Westeros would be lost without him.” 

Both women's gazes move to Jon as he shifts nervously on his feet beside them, head downcast as he fidgets with his gloves, ever humble. Neither seem to miss how the other softens at the sight he makes.

Lyanna pins her dark eyes on Dany once more. “And what about you? Would you be lost without him too?”

Jon and Dany exchange a look, weighing their options carefully. Dany decides to follow in Jon’s honorable footsteps. She's tired of denying it, he deserves better.

“I would.”

“So it wasn't just him that fell for a pretty face?” 

Lyanna’s condescending tone brings the King quickly to the surface. “M’lady, I respect you,” he says, his voice low, careful, “but you forget yourself and whom you're speaking to.”

The young lady isn't cowed by her king in the least. “I haven't forgotten anything. Tell me all of this,” she waves towards the dragons circling above them, then to Dany's armies lining the walls and camped outside them, “isn't about love making you give up our home. Tell me you both are back here, together, to defeat our enemies.”

“That's the only reason we're here,” Jon says, voice tight and just on the verge of fury. If it wasn't for the war he has no doubt he would've never let them leave the haven of Dragonstone.

“You need to make the others believe it then,” Lyanna charges. “Their tempers are boiling in your hall after seeing you ride her dragon. They think she's here to burn them all and you're going to help.”

“Bloody fookin fools,” Jon curses, head thrown back and eyes closed.

_It takes a man to rule. An Aegon, not an Egg._

He doesn't wait for them to follow him, storming towards the great hall. His guards are too startled by his sudden appearance, and his obvious ill humor, to get the door open for him. He flings them open himself. They bounce off the stone walls with a resounding thud, shocking all those inside.

The rumbling discord he walks into dies a quick death. 

“Are we here again, my lords?” he roars, eyes like black ice, cutting into each one as he looks about the silent room. “Are you lettin the deeds of men long since dead rule your minds over what's comin for us?”

Not even a murmur can be heard as Dany and their counsel she hurried to gather enter the room taking their seats at the head table. The lords and their men all sit or stand as still as statues staring wide eyed and wary of their King, none having ever been subjected to his wrath.

Their silence only seems to bring Jon's ire to an even sharper edge. He brings his fist down upon the closest table with a resounding crack, horns of ale and plates clattering. “You call me traitor behind my back! Whisper hate filled words into each other's ears about a queen who’s come to save your miserable hides!” 

Jon’s rage is barely contained as he prowls the room, face red, eyes no more than slits, fists flexing on open air itching to beat the first idiot that opens their mouth. Instead he waits, a wolf enjoying the sight of his prey trembling in fear. “ _I_ , don't have to be here. _She_ , doesn't have to be here. Neither of us had to risk our lives for any of you.” He spits his disgust at Glover's feet holding the lord’s defiant stare for a heavy tension fraught moment before turning on the others. “But we did. For the North, the South, for all of Westeros.” He pauses again, looking over them all, letting the truth sink through thick simpleton skulls. “You don't want me as your king?” he suddenly shouts, a hand flying into the air. Half the room jumps and jerks. “Choose another. I never wanted it anyway. I'll take my family, she'll take her armies, and we’ll go. You can defeat the dead on your own. You can find another king and queen to fight for you. You can find more armies, more weapons, and more dragons. Whatever it is you think you want, decide it now. I’m tired of fightin for fools too blinded by prejudice to see the true enemy standin at their gates.”

Most now cower in their seats, guilt weighing heavy on their shoulders. The rest sit in shock, frightened children waiting to hear their punishment. No one says a word. Jon turns, shoulders back and chin high, to face his Queen and their counsel. Dany’s eyes could not hold more pride as she nods at him. Arya too, a ghost of a smile on her lips. Sansa sits frozen in stunned wonder while Davos and Tyrion share looks of earnest respect. A rush of air leaves him. The fear he’d gone too far vanishing.

“Marry her,” a small, but demanding voice calls from behind him. 

Shock runs through his every nerve, his heart suddenly pounding in his ears and his pulse dancing against the fabric at his throat. Dany’s eyes meet his, no more than thin rings of dusky violet filled by large pools of black. He hopes no one else notices either of their reactions.

He turns, rounding slowly on Lyanna Mormont. “I beg your pardon, M’lady?”

“Marry her,” she says. “Join your houses. Ease their minds. The wife of a king is much less likely to destroy her husband's lands and people than a lone foreign queen.”

“Forgive me, but how many times must I say it?” he asks with a dark scowl, sick to death of having to tread these waters. “The queen is not here to destroy anythin but the Night King and his army. She wants to save the North.”

“Aye, I know that as well as you. But this lot isn’t as smart as us.” Jon has to bite back a grin, shaking his head at her boldness. “They need more than words. Marry her, yer Grace. Make her home yours, and yours hers.”

Not wanting a soul to see the truth he sighs, head down and eyes closed, feigning disinterest and irritation. Best to let them believe this is all their idea. “We don't have time for this. There's no time to plan a royal wedding, no time for a feast. Fook, there's not enough food for a feast. We should be making battle plans.”

Lyanna pushes on, undeterred. “They'll not stop till their fears are put to rest. Have a royal wedding after the war. Any fool with eyes can see the two of you get on. I doubt either of you would see marriage between you as a hardship.”

Jon sighs again, making a show by looking around the room, searching faces. “Is that what you all want? Is that what you need to put to rest all this nonsense?” he asks them.

The response is immediate, loud cries filling the room, feet stomping, fists pounding.

“Aye! Wed her!”

“Make her heel!”

“Better a Stark on the throne than a Targaryen!”

“Wed! Get her with child then all the future King's of Westeros will have the blood of the North running through their veins.” 

Jon can feel Dany’s tightly contained fury without even looking. No doubt she sees these lords for what they are; nothing but a flock of sheep driven mad by their fears, blindly following the loudest voice to supposed safety.

Yet, those sheep are offering him exactly what he wants. What she wants. Do they accept or play the fool for a bit longer? 

He faces her. She’s playing the part well, wearing a mask of queenly petulance, but her eyes tell him a different story. Don't give in too easily.

He rounds back on his lords. “Enough!” he shouts over their continued fracas. “I know I am your king and she a queen. Our lives are not our own, but we will have some say in this. I’ll not marry someone just to ease your fears. My word should be enough for you. But the queen and I, and our counsel will discuss it further. Later. There are much more important matters to discuss.” He stops, waiting for them to quiet. It takes them far too long. “The wall has fallen,” he roars knowing it will shut them up. It does. “Death is comin for us much sooner than we thought and it rides upon an ice dragon.” 

Fear has swept through the room, their northern blood running colder than ever. Widened eyes stare from pale faces, all of them frozen in terror.

Jon jumps on their rapt attention. “We have a week, probably less before the dead will march on our walls. So make your choice now, weddin or not. Fight for the livin, or let the dead take you as you whine like spoiled children.”

A quiet burdened voice calls to his back as he heads to his seat. “Forgive us, Your Grace.” Others quickly join in, raising a wavering murmur of apologies and gratitude. 

He stops them with a hand and a grim shake of his head. “We do not need your words. Your actions will be proof enough. I want every abled bodied man, woman, and child who’s old enough either digging trenches, making weapons and armor, or keeping those who are with food and water. Those of your houses who are sick, too young or too old need to packed up and taken south, as far as you can get them, as soon as you can.”

Daenerys stands, drawing everyone's attention. “My ships are docked in White Harbor. Send those who cannot help there. My captains will get them to the safety of Dragonstone.”

“We’ll convene again tomorrow morning,” Jon tells them. Expecting them to jump to their feet, his anger flames at seeing nothing but blank faces looking back at him. “Now, you fools!” 

The hall clears within moments, all of them scurrying away like rodents.

He wilts into his chair when the door finally closes behind them, running weary hands over his face as he lets out a ragged sigh. “Gods be good, why would any man ever want to be king?”

Dany takes his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. “Those who wield power best are the ones who never wanted it, though I’ve heard the head that wears the crown is often heavy.”

He looks over at her through his lashes a grin slowly forming on his full lips. “I'm not wearin a crown.”

She eyes his head, smirking while she pats her hand atop her own. “Mmm, neither am I.”

Their counsel looks on in chagrin as the two fall into a fit of laughter, heads together and hands clasped. 

Tyrion pours himself a glass of wine, downing it in one go, then stares at their king and queen, his disgust evident. “How lovely. They’ve both gone mad.”

“Let them be. Gods know they deserve it,” Davos grumbles at him.

“Yes, I suppose they do,” Tyrion reluctantly agrees.

Surprisingly, their moment is just that, a happy, but fleeting span of time that's over too soon. Grey Worm enters the hall, with Jorah, Bronn, Jamie, Lady Brienne, Pod, the Hound, and two of Daenerys bloodriders right behind him. 

Arya stands and makes her way to the Hound. No one moves or speaks as they eye one another, feet spread, hands behind their backs. 

“Well, little wolf,” he growls, “if you're planning on finishing me off, get on with it.”

Arya smirks up at him. A shiver runs through Sansa. Her little sister wore the same smirk when she slit Littlefinger’s throat. 

“I marked you off my list when I left you that day,” Arya says, her voice as sweet and soft as fine sugar. “Might as well leave you that way. You helped my sister, and my brother after all.”

Sandor snarls, rolling his eyes. “I wasn't much fookin help to either of them.” He looks up, first to Sansa, then Jon, something like regret marring his face along with his scars. Both give him a small smiles and nods. 

Arya brings his attention back to her. “You’ll have to tell me how you made it.”

“If we survive that ice cunt and his fookin army, you can tell me the same.”

Her smirk growing into a genuine smile, Ayra nods, then turns to Jon letting him get on with it.

He rises, bracing his hands on the table, the sigh that escapes him leaving no doubt to the weight upon his shoulders. “We all know what's coming. Any ideas you have, I’d be more than happy to hear them.” 

“The trenches are a good start on defending us,” Sansa gets out first. “I’ve sent orders for pitch and oil to fill them. Anything to keep them burning, but digging them won't be easy, even with the numbers we have. The ground is frozen.”

“The dragons and I can help with that,” Daenerys offers. “We’ll burn the ground first, melting the snow and the ice underneath. I’ll get them started as soon as we're finished here.”

Jon’s eyes have been on her from the moment she opened her mouth. He swallows against the fear wrapped tight around his throat. It doesn't matter that she flew safely this morning, no harm brought to her or their child, the thought of her on Drogon terrifies him now. He knows he can't stop her, but he may be able to cut the time she's in the air in half. 

“I’ll help. I need all the practice I can get.”

Her smile is sly, she knows his game, but she nods anyway letting him play it. Together. That's the only way this will work. 

“Practice for what?” Arya asks. 

Bracing for the fresh hell he knows is about to be unleashed upon them, he takes a deep breath and lets it go, his eyes focused on the grain of the wood table under his hands. “Daenerys and I will take her dragons to bring down their brother and the Night King.”

Before he's even finished speaking chairs are scraping against stone, fists pounding into wood, and voices rising in outrage. 

“NO!”

“You are both mad!”

“You can't be serious?!?”

“Absolutely not!”

“You're too important!”

Watching Jon’s eyes close, his head hanging from the onslaught, Dany stands, the calm amidst the storm. Jon rises to his full height beside her and they wait for everyone to cease they're arguing. The grave expressions of their king and queen thankfully bring it to an end, however reluctant.

“Do any of you have a better idea?” Dany asks, her voice hard and carrying throughout the hall. No one answers, or even looks at her, every set of eyes dropping in defeat as reality truly sets in. “This is not a decision we made lightly,” she says, softer now. “It wasn't a decision we wanted to make at all. If there was another way, I assure you we would take it, but we all know there isn't. What we need now is not your objections, but your help to ensure we’re successful.”

Jamie takes a step forward, appearing more concerned than either would have thought him capable of. Whether it's for himself or them is yet to be seen. “Do you at least know how you're going to kill him?”

Jon and Dany exchange a glance, one laden with uncertainty. Jon’s head drops again, fingers tapping against the table. “We have some ideas, none of which are guaranteed to work. We won't know until we try.”

“Well, what are they?” Arya barks.

“If we're lucky, two live dragons will be stronger than one dead one. It's very possible they'll be able to overpower him,” he says.

“And if they're not?” Sansa accuses.

“We plan to take weapons with us, and build ones on the ground to lure him towards.”

“The weapon you used to shoot my son, Ser Bronn. Any chance you know how to build one?” Dany asks. 

“No, Yer Grace, I’m afraid not,” Bronn answers, shaking his head. “Not on my own at least.” He turns to Jamie. “Think we could figure it out?”

Jamie rubs his face. “I don't know. I'm a fighter, not a builder, but maybe we can with some help from any carpenters and smiths available.”

“If they do figure it out, what type of bolt would you use? Regular steel will have little effect on a dead dragon I’m guessing,” Tyrion presses, clearly against the idea.

“You're right, it wouldn't,” Jon admits. “I’m not certain dragonglass will either. His scales may still be tough enough to shatter it.”

“Then that leaves what?” the little lord snarks. “Valyrian steel? We may have four swords and a daggers worth, but we can't spare them to make bolts.”

Throwing Tyrion a withering glare, Jon turns to Sam. “Davos told me you found something in one of your books?”

“I did,” Sam answers, the only person smiling in the entire room. “We have all we need. Steel, dragon fire, dragonglass, and the blood of Old Valyria.” He nods at Dany. “A few good smiths and we'll have plenty of Valyrian steel.”

Jon scowls. “How much blood?”

“Oh. Only a few drops,” his friend assures him. 

Jon gives him a brilliant smile. “It's good to be king with friends such as you.” Sam turns as red as a beet, not able to keep the smile from his face.

“Let Daenerys know what you need from her, then get with Davos. He can help you with the smiths. We need to start today. Speaking of smiths. Arya, Gendry's here.”

“What? Here? In Winterfell?” She's already heading towards the doors, throwing her questions at him over her shoulder.

_Gods be good, it's worse than he thought._

“I sent him to get a hot bath and some food in his belly. Check the kitchens. Bring him back as soon as he's done,” he calls to her just as she slips out. 

The distinct sound of leather slapping wood draws his eyes to Sansa. Her hand’s spread flat against the table, mouth agape and eyes wide. “First you and now her?” 

He shrugs. If his sister can find a happiness here at the end of the world, it won't be him that tries to stand in her way. “He’s a good lad and we have more important things to worry about.”

They spend another hour arguing, strategizing, assigning tasks, and writing scrolls for dozen of ravens, before finally separating to begin their chosen preparations. None leave the hall feeling anymore hopeful than when they had walked in.


	11. Honey, pick a blossom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our King and Queen tie the knot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey peeps! Here's the fluff half of that fluff and smut I promised. The fluff got out of hand, then the smut did and next thing I know I'm pushing 10k words for one chapter. I decided it was best to cut it into two. Sorry NoOrdinaryLines! The smut half is almost done though, I may even get it posted for you tomorrow. 
> 
> The first real scene of this chapter came out of nowhere, I am not responsible! Lol. It's what the characters wanted, so if it seems OOC you'll have to take it up with them. As for the wedding, that's on me. I fluffed it quite a bit. Northern weddings are so dull. ;) 
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think! <3

The people of the North learned dragons weren't just for death and destruction before the day was done. As Drogon and Rhaegal rose into the air, the queen and king upon their great horned backs most stood frozen in awe and not a small amount of fear. When the streams of scorching fire left their gaping mouths they fled in terror. Until their morbid curiosity got the best of them. Peeking through windows, from behind castle walls, and around shoulders they realized the dragons may very well be their salvation, not their death. 

The ring of fire surrounding them melted away the frigid cold, thawing their stiff extremities. Once it had died down, the warm, wet mud they were left to dig did the same. The fierce Dothraki and stoic Unsullied worked alongside them none uttering a single complaint. The trenches would be dug in days instead of weeks. 

At the end of the day the queen even had her big black beast heat water for baths to soak their sore muscles in and wash away the layers of mud. A dozen forges were also lit with dragonfire. Valyrian steel was to be made to kill the dead for good. Some whispered the queen even meant to spill her own blood to help create the precious metal.

Everyone knew winter had come, but hope for spring began to bloom inside stubborn northern hearts. 

 

\---

 

He looks up from his task, hearing the door of the gardens open then click closed again. He waits for her to approach before greeting her. “Thank you for joining me. I know it's growing late.”

“Did you summon me here for a scolding?” she asks, nose slightly snarled. 

Jon laughs and shakes his head as he seems to do often in her presence. “No, I did not.” Her snarl disappears, relieved he supposes, her face once again a stoic facade. Turning back to what he was doing, he cuts a stem then weaves it in amongst the others. 

“I didn't know my king fancied flowers.”

He smiles, holding up the next bud, twirling it slowly between his fingers. It's sweet soft fragrance fills his nose. “I didn't either til tonight.” He offers the bloom to her. “Do you have these on your island?” 

She takes it, smells it, then hands it right back. “We do.”

“I guess you know the story behind this too?” He points to the half made crown lying on the table.

She rolls her eyes a bit and crosses her arms over her chest. “I am named after her.”

He’s struck then, by how very young she still is. The child having peeked out from behind her fierce lady mask. Thirteen, if he remembers right. His mother wasn't much older when she had him. Dany was of the same age when she was sold to her horselord. 

A sharp stab of pain in his thumb wakes him from his dark thoughts.

_Damn thorns._

He sticks the offended digit into his mouth sucking on the small puncture wound, the metallic taste of blood swirling on his tongue. He decides then and there, no daughter of his will ever marry so young, or at all if she doesn't want to. 

“Roses have thorns, you know?”

He smirks around his thumb, then pulls it out wiping it on his pant’s leg. “I know bears have claws.”

She grins. “And wolves, teeth.”

Her humor fades as their dark eyes meet. Then she looks away, and Jon’s stomach falls seeing the slight blush that paints her cheeks. 

_Seven bloody hells. Surely she doesn't think? No. Please no. Oh gods, could he be a bigger fool? Of course that's what she thinks._

The playful–though definitely innocent on his part–banter they just had could easily have been taken for flirting. Her actions today were probably a test and he didn't give into the request as far as she knows. And now he's brought her here, they're alone in a lovely place, and he’s making a crown of roses like the bloody love sick fool he is. If the poor girl is smitten with him she’d naturally hope it was for her.

Sweat suddenly breaking out across his brow, he wipes at it with his sleeve, scrambling to think of a way to fix this fuck up. He should've insisted Davos stay after he brought her. But never in a hundred years would he have thought she would think of him that way. The age difference alone...he would never. Unfortunately it's a common practice to wed girls to men.

 _How to fix it, how to fix it?_ Perhaps he should just play the fool, pretend he didn't notice. Probably not the best route, but he doesn't have time to think of another.

He clears his throat and busies himself cutting off more thorns. “After your help this afternoon, I… We, the queen and I, felt it right to take you into our confidence.”

“Is she hiding in the plants somewhere?”

 _This girl._ Whoever manages to become worthy of her is sure to have a life full of fire and laughter. He turns to her again, hoping, praying this doesn't hurt her as he fears it could. “She’s... getting ready for our wedding. As am I,” he says gently, waving his hand at the roses. 

Her thin eyebrows crease, her usual frown finding its way back to her mouth. She’s suddenly become very interested in the potted plant sitting beside her. “A wise choice,” is all she says.

His feet shift noisily on the gravel underneath them. He hasn't been so uncomfortable since the day he met Daenerys. But that turned out well, eventually. Hopefully this will too. “The decision had already been made before today,” he admits, his voice still kind. “You were correct in saying it wouldn't be a hardship for us.” He stops, not really wanting to say anymore, but there's nothing for it. He's already gone too far, best get it all out. “We love each other.”

Lyanna huffs, still studying the plant. “I knew that already.” 

“Neither of us meant for it to happen, but...it did. Our hearts made the choice for us.”

“Aye.”

He waits for her to say more, she only pins him with a look, one eyebrow lifted.

“We assumed the lords wouldn't approve,” he explains. “They probably wouldn't have without your cunning mind.”

“Not without it being painted as their idea. They're a bunch of fools, you know that.”

“Aye, they are blinded by the past. But, Daenerys and I, we appreciate what you did for us. None besides my family has ever stood by me save you. I won't forget it.” She perks up a bit under his praise. The frown leaves her young face anyway. “Speaking of the past... There's something else. Something I hope, believe I can trust you with, as a friend as well as a liege lady of the North.”

“Something besides a wedding had in secret?”

“Aye. Something much bigger than that.”

“I'm listening.”

Adding another rose to the crown Jon gives himself one more chance to back out, but his gut says he shouldn't, so he doesn't. “What would you say if I told you Rhaegar Targaryen never kidnapped Lyanna? That they loved each other instead.”

Her expression could only be described as incredulous. “There was a bloody war that says otherwise.”

He reaches over and picks up the musty old tome that holds the truth of his legitimacy. Opening it to the page Sam had marked for him he lays it on the table and points to the correct entry. Lyanna gives him a skeptical glare, but begins to read. It only takes her a moment to finish, her face now a mask of confusion. 

“Just because he married her, doesn't mean they loved each other. Most marriages aren't for love.”

“True, but I doubt a High Septon would've annulled his first marriage, then remarried him to Lyanna if she were kickin and screamin, claimin he’d stolen her away an raped her. An you know she would've been.”

That brings her up short, she takes a moment to think on it, then shrugs. “Alright, say they were, that it was all a lie. Why does it matter now? What does that change for us? A better claim to the throne for your Queen?”

“Not for her, for me.”

If her hair wasn't pulled back from her face her eyebrows would've disappeared underneath it they rise so high. “Forgive me, yer Grace, but I think you may be going mad.”

Jon laughs. Sometimes he feels exactly that. He’s certain she’ll know the feeling soon. “Rhaegar didn't murder Lyanna. She died giving birth...to me.”

“No, you're Ned Stark's son,” she declares as adamantly as he once did.

He shakes his head. “A lie he told to keep me safe. Which he swore to his sister he’d do.”

“Ned Stark? A liar?”

“It was hard for me to believe it too, trust me. But Bran saw it all in his visions. Their weddin, my mother layin in a blood soaked bed beggin her brother to keep me safe. If he’d come home with Rhaegar Targaryen’s son, Lyanna's son, what d’you think Robert Baratheon woulda done?”

She doesn't seem to have a reply to that, instead, she closes the book that's almost as big as she is and turns away from it. Her thumb goes to her mouth, brows drawn together tightly as she walks off down the gravel path. Jon doesn't interrupt her or call her back. Knowing she needs time to think he continues working on Dany's crown of roses.

Several minutes later he hears her small footfalls drawing closer again. They sound as tenacious as her. She stops right where she started, her dark eyes blazing with their usual fierce determination. “You can't tell them.”

“You believe me then?”

“I do. I doubt her beasts would let ya anywhere near em if you didn't have dragon blood. Let alone ride them.”

“Thank you,” he breathes out, a tension he didn't know he’d been holding melting away from his neck and shoulders. Her belief is almost as relieving as hearing Dany pledge to fight for them all had been.

“You can't tell them,” she repeats, stern as ever.

“I know,” he sighs. “It's a festerin wound to my honor that I cannot. That's one of my biggest reason for tellin you. I needed at least one of you to know. Probably makes me a selfish bastard though. I shouldn’t have put this burden on you.”

“You're my king, it's my duty to hold your counsel.”

Jon can't help but stare at her. He’s still not quite used to having allies. Until Dany it was as if the whole world was against him. Looking at the young Lady of Bear Island just now, and how much she reminds him of Dany and Arya– two of his staunchest supporters–he wonders if it was the women of Westeros he should’ve been pleading his case to all these years. 

He gives her a smile. “The North would be a better place if every house had a lady such as you to rule them.”

“Aye, it would,” she agrees with a smirk, then asks, “After the war, will you claim your right? Take the throne from Cersei?”

He wipes his forehead of more sweat, not used to the warmth of the gardens, then adds another rose to the crown. Two more should do it. “Whether my true birth comes out or not, we haven't really decided. I know a book and some visions aren't proof enough for most. I don't really care about being heir to that bloody throne. Knowin I’m not a bastard is enough. Knowing she's my mother. Those bring me peace. Daenerys and I will rule together because she wants me by her side and I can't imagine being anywhere else, but it wouldn't be about any crown or throne for me.”

“Well, whatever you decide, you have my support,” she declares.

“Thank you, truly. In the meantime, I’d be honored to have you stand in witness of our marriage.” He could’ve posed it as a question, but hoped it wasn't necessary.

Lyanna smiles, a small one, but still a smile. “The honor is mine, Yer Grace.”

 

\---

 

The castle sleeps save for a few guards and their closest companions. They move about like Ghost, silent and as light as the soft snow that falls from the black sky above. All in preparation for a secret wedding.

Jon left her in Missandei’s capable hands over an hour ago with a lingering, but urgent kiss that made her head spin and knees weak. He’s stolen her breath at least a dozen times today. Whether it was with his perfectly full lips against hers, their tongues hungry, or his deep, dark, depthless eyes invading her soul with every glance, the message has been the same; he loves her beyond reason, beyond any shadow of a doubt and he can't wait to be her husband.

_Soon, my love. Soon._

Sansa came by not long after he left, bearing gifts. Missandei had just finished her hair, leaving most of it down in soft waves the rest pulled back and knotted in a single braid just below the crown of her head.

“You look beautiful, Your Grace,” Sansa tells her. “You always do but… I can't wait to see Jon's face when he sees you.”

“Thank you, M’lady. He just best not make me cry, I’m barely hanging on as it is,” Dany laughs.

“You're about to become my sister, Sansa will do, your Grace.”

“Well then, you must call me Daenerys.”

Sansa’s eyes drop to her skirts as she smooths away nonexistent wrinkles, a blush coloring her beautiful milky skin. “I’m not sure that would be proper.”

Dany steps closer, taking her hands in her own, imploring Sansa to meet her eyes. She does with a pensive smile. “When it's just us, or amongst friends and family, I insist. I longed for a sister growing up, I’m honored you would see me as such.”

“Well, now you have two of us, not that Arya is much of a sister,” Sansa snorts. 

Dany, surprised by such an unladylike noise from the austere girl laughs freely. “She's wonderful in her own way. I envy her sometimes. She refuses to hide who she is. Too often I must put on this mask or that to appease bigoted, arrogant men. She just flat doesn't care. It's refreshing.”

Sansa’s eyebrows raise, her lips pinched. “Oh, she has masks too, but not the kind you’d ever want to wear.” Before Dany can ask what she could possibly mean, Sansa picks up the package she had brought in with her, holding it out to Dany. “I’ve made you something.”

Smiling, Dany takes it from her. “Thank you, Sansa, gifts weren't necessary. You're so sweet.” She unwraps the linen gasping at the sight held within it. One of the most beautiful dresses she has ever seen lies within a gorgeous white and silver cloak of fur and velvety soft suede.

“Sansa, they're exquisite. How did you ever?”

Her smile filled with pride, Sansa bites her lip, clasping her hands in front of her. “Sewing is my escape. With fabric, thread, and needle in my hands the rest of the world falls away. I can stitch for hours on end and never grow tired. I started on the cloak as soon as I received Jon's raven. Something told me this night would not be far off. When you arrived and I saw the two of you together there was no doubt.” The three ladies share a knowing smile, only Sansa blushes. “I asked for Missandei's help then. She let me borrow some of your dresses so I would know your sizes. I'm afraid I took two of them to help make the one, but I’ll gladly make you more.”

With tears in her eyes, Dany runs her hands over the fine stitches, beautiful fabric, and soft fur of the dress. She recognizes pieces of the coat she wore beyond the Wall to save her love. It makes up most of the sleeves, shoulders, and split top skirt. Shimmering velvet and the pale silk of one of her Meereen dresses, now stitched through with glinting silver thread reminiscent of dragon scale and snowflakes form the bodice and underskirt. The edges of it all lined in lush white fur to help keep her warm.

“I'm most proud of the sigil,” Sansa says, gently separating the cloak from the dress and turning it around. 

Dany chokes back a sob seeing the Targaryen dragons embroidered across the back in the same sparkling silver thread she used in the dress. She wraps Sansa in a fierce hug, full on crying now, shocking the stoic redhead. “Thank you. No one has ever given me such a gift. I don't know how I’ll ever repay you.”

Sansa hugs Dany back, her eyes squeezed tight against the sting of tears. “Just take care of Jon,” she whispers, “and yourself. I'm fairly certain he can no longer live without you and our family cannot live without him.”

Taking Sansa's hands in hers again, Dany does all she can to allay her fears. “I swear to you I will do everything in my power to keep him safe, and myself. I also promise to love him with all my heart until my dying day.”

"Thank you, that's all we could ever ask for.” With a squeeze to Dany’s fingers, Sansa retreats quickly in a swish of skirts and cloak, the door closing with a soft click behind her. 

“We don't have much time, your Grace. Let's get you changed,” Missandei says, her fingers already at the laces of her dress. 

 

\---

 

Twenty minutes later she and Missandei slip out the door. Though the Unsullied still guard the halls, Jon had the torches snuffed out to make their comings and goings less visible. It's black as pitch.

Dany nearly shrieks when a warm wet nose comes out of the darkness to nuzzle her hand. Ghost. Of course Jon left him to be their escort. No doubt he can see in the dark just fine. He leaves her hand to rub his face against her stomach, small quiet whines filling the quiet.

She strokes the soft smooth fur between his ears, then scratches behind one. “Yes, you brilliant beautiful boy, you knew all along didn't you? We’ll pay better attention from now on, I promise. Let's go find our Jon, hmmm?”

Ghost leading the way they soon reach the entrance of the godswood. Tyrion awaits, in his crisp black coat, breeches, and boots, the pin on his shoulder glinting in the dim touch light. He holds what looks to be a small wreath in his hands. 

His green eyes sparkle, as they stop in front of him, the first true smile Dany as seen grace his face in too long pulling at his lips and cheeks. “My Queen, you are a vision. I am truly happy for you.”

She returns his smile. “Thank you, my friend. Tis good to see you smile again. Do you have something for me?”

“A gift from the king to his bride. His Queen of love and beauty.” His expression grows tender as he holds the gift up to the light. 

Her breath catches, her heart skipping. It's a crown of blue winter roses. _Lyanna, Rhaegar. Oh, her sweet, Jon._ Her fingers reach out, trembling as she caresses the soft petals, her eyes welling with heavy tears.

“From a symbol that started a great war to what he hopes is one that will end a greater war,” Tyrion says, passing on Jon’s message. “If you could bend down–”

“Allow me,” a deep voice comes from the shadows.

Dany gasps. “Ser Jorah. I was afraid you wouldn't come.”

He goes to her, taking her hand in his and lifting it to his lips placing a reverent kiss to her knuckles. “I would see you happy, Khaleesi, and he makes you happier than I have ever known you to be. You chose well. He is a good man.” His soft smile reaches his bright blue eyes and Dany knows he meant every word. Her sweet, devoted old bear, always by her side. 

Wiping away a few tears, she waits as he takes the roses from Tyrion then places them gently atop her head. “A beautiful crown for a beautiful bride.” 

“Thank you, my friend. I'm so glad you're here, it wouldn't have been right without you.”

“It's my honor,” he declares, bowing to her as he has so many times before.

Tyrion raises his hand for hers. “Shall we?”

 

\---

 

Jon cannot make himself stand still. If he manages to stop his feet from shifting then his fingers begin to fidget, his excitement determined to find an outlet. His sisters, Gilly, and Gendry eye him from a few feet away, all of them smirking. Little Lyanna too, though at least she has the decency to keep her eyes straight ahead. Sam is doing his own nervous dance behind him, adding to his anxiousness. He’s only thrown one withering look his way. At least Bran, Greyworm, Varys, and Ohono are all a picture of stoic resolve. He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, bracing his feet apart and clamping one hand over the other. 

_He’s a king for gods sake, time he acted like it._

Davos’ Fleabottom burr fills his left ear, “Nothin fooks you harder than love, does it?”

An amused huff escapes him as he looks over his shoulder at his Hand and friend, feeling relaxed for the first time in hours. “I thought that was time.”

Davos grins, giving his shoulder a few firm pats. “Aye, perhaps it's both.”

Ghost comes padding up the path then, sending Jon’s heart into his throat and nearly swelling it closed as it pounds away. She's almost here. Eyes searching through the trees he strains to see past the torch light. He doesn't have to wait long, soon enough the group breaks through the shadows and there she is.

_His queen. His Dany._

Her beauty is the potent rush. She's a vision of silver and white from head to toe save for her violet eyes, rosy cheeks and lips that glow within her pale loveliness, making the sight of her beyond exquisite. And the roses crowning her head... Never has the sight of her affected him so. He is nothing against it, as weak as a dying man’s last breath and he never wants to come back up for air. He has to stop himself from going to her, wanting nothing more than to have her in his arms, those soft pink lips pressed to his. 

The torches around them add to her ethereal radiance, washing her in warm light and making the snow glistens at her feet; white, blue, red, and orange. It’s as if she's walking through sparkling flames. His queen of ice and fire. 

“Who comes before the gods this night?” Sam’s voice calls out, breaking him from his love filled haze.

“Daenerys, of the House Targaryen, comes to be wed,” Tyrion replies. “Trueborn and noble, she begs the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?”

Thank those gods his voice doesn't fail him. “Jon, of the Houses Stark and Targaryen,” He looks down, swallowing deeply, then lifts his eyes to hers, “trueborn and noble.” Her smile is brilliant and full of pride. It fills his chest full to bursting. “Who gives her?”

“Tyrion, of the House Lannister. Hand of the Queen.”

They’re close now, only a few steps away. His heart beats like a war drum against his ribs, his blood a surging river in his ears.

“Milady, do you take this man?” Sam asks.

Dany steps forward then, reaching, hands out, palms up, eyes only for him. “I take this man,” she whispers, her voice breathless and breaking from between her smiling lips.

He takes her hands in his, small and warm, fighting the urge to pull her into his aching arms. 

_Not much longer._

Sam pulls a ribbon neither of them had noticed from the crook of his arm. It's silk, dyed black at one end, fading to grey at the other. Their sigils beautifully embroidered at each respective end. Sansa. He wraps it around their hands, once, then again, and again.

“In the sight of the old gods I hereby seal your two souls together, binding them as one for eternity in a union of love and trust. Repeat your vows.”

Their hands clasped tight, hearts fluttering like birds in a cage, they make their promise and pledge together as one. “All I have, all that I am, my heart, my body, my soul belong to no other but you. I am yours and you are mine, from this day until the end of my days.”

Sam then stands aside and waves them towards the weirwood tree. 

Jon helps Dany over the gnarled roots sticking up through the snow finding them a smooth enough spot to kneel. Neither release their grip on the other as they lower to the ground then reach out pressing their hands against the smooth, bone white bark of the tree. 

Both startle slightly as a pulsating energy of some sort begins to hum through them. Jon accepts it first, always knowing from a young age there was much more to the tree than just its strange coloring and crying carved face. The air is different beneath the blood red boughs, quieter, thick and warm. Sometimes unsettling, others comforting. But whatever it is, it's stronger with her here beside him. If there was any doubt left in him they were meant to be, it's gone now. 

Dany’s eyes are wide as they stare back into his, but it only takes a squeeze to her fingers and a reassuring smile and she too trusts this new sign of their union.

Closing their eyes, they do not feel the cold, wet snow beneath their knees. Heads bowed, foreheads touching, all they know is each other and the thrum of peace and love flowing through and around them. It's so palpable surely their family and friends must see and feel it too.

Sam rests a hand on each of their shoulders and after a small tremor he too seems certain of what's happening, his voice strong and clear as it flows through the godswood. “May the gods bless your union, help you honor and respect one another, and seek to never break that honor. May they remind you to share each other’s pain and seek to ease it. May they grace you with open hearts in sorrow as well as joy allowing absolute trust between you. May they favor the fire within your blood so you may share it with one another in even the darkest of times. May they keep you together from this day until the end of your days. And may this marriage not only be a blessing to you both, but to your kingdoms as well.” 

Sam taps their shoulders, but they stay there a few moments longer, reluctant to let go. Knowing one more thing must happen before they're joined forever, they finally rise to their feet. 

Both can see Sam’s smiling face beside them, their own smiles growing as they wait for the last words. 

“You may seal your pledge with a kiss.”

They do and the world falls away as their lips meet, his warm hand holding her face, hers finding the curls at the nape of his neck. A fire burns bright within them, bursting from their hearts and flooding through their veins, their souls seeming to die then be reborn again as snow falls softly around them.


	12. There's no better love that has ever loved me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smut that was promised, with a fair dose of fluff ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright peeps, here's the smutty wedding night. I agonized over this chapter. You wouldn't believe the number of times I took it apart and rewrote it. I wanted #boatsex all over again, but even better. Maybe I managed, probably not. Hopefully it'll make at least one of you swoon. If it's awful, please don't tell me, lol. 
> 
> I don't have anything done for the next chapter as of yet, not even sure what comes next, so don't be looking for an update for at least a couple of weeks. Sorry, I'm a pantser, outlines just don't work for me. Fingers crossed these guys keep talking to my muse. 
> 
> Enjoy and please let me know what you think. Comments keep us writers writing! 
> 
> PS: Be sure to remember to vote in the Jonerys fanfic awards. You've got until the end of the month to vote :) 
> 
> https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSeT08SkDKcO1Td2CPL9hLRHZzX61jZNus1ZlhonC5VUhSPwjA/viewform 
> 
> PSS: If anyone knows how I can get my damn italics to show up I would be so appreciative!

They were able to get away after quite a few hugs and whispered words of congratulations. Everyone then slipped into the night, finding their way back to their own rooms, the brief time of levity over for them. But not for their king and queen.

Whether from nerves or stealth, the pair haven't spoken a word since leaving the godswood, much like the night they left the crypts, the truth bare between them. Jon carries her, not wanting her anywhere else. Dany is more than content to let him have his way, her face nuzzled into his warm fragrant neck, their troubles banished by his strong arms holding her close.

It only takes a few minutes and they're tucked warm and safe behind the closed door of their bedroom, Ghost standing guard on the other side. 

They’ve done this before, many times. It shouldn't feel new or half as exciting, but it does thanks to the strange energy still thrumming through them from the heart tree, and more besides. 

For Jon, the number of times he's studied her still not believing she's real are countless. Wondering how she could love him, thinking surely she must be a dream. Or maybe that he never came back from the dead and she's his own personal goddess sent to give him ease in the space after death. And now they're here, a husband and wife on the cusp of their wedding night.

He gently places her on her feet in front of him and stares in wonder for the longest time. His fingers running lightly over her silver hair as his eyes follow the path they take, then to her face, moving ever so slowly and softly across the milky skin of her cheek.

Having her standing before him in her lovely dress appearing like something far beyond his imagination has stolen his words. She's more than a dream. She's everything. And she's real, more real than anyone ever has been. And she's his. Her fire and fury can certainly burn, but to him she’ll always be the warm peaceful sleep that overtakes him after surviving a battle. The balm to his battered heart, the other half of his soul.

Like a moth to a flame he’s drawn to her and always will be.

“I'm the luckiest bastard alive,” he says, his voice sounding rough and pained to her ears.

Smiling despite herself, she snarls at him, eyes squinting and narrow. “You were ordered never to say that word again, remember?”

“Because my wife is the most beautiful woman there's ever been,” he finishes, ignoring her quarreling.

With the way he is staring at her one would think he had never laid eyes on her before. It reminds Dany of the first time he saw her at Dragonstone, or their visit to the cave, the sight of her seeming to strike him deaf and dumb. It was rather humorous then, now the awe, wonder, and intense love flowing from his eyes is enough to steal her breath. Seeing him stare at her this way, Dany feels more beautiful than she ever has.

“My wife. You’re my _wife _,” he whispers, his watery eyes locked on hers.__

__“I am,” she whispers back, smiling up at him running her own fingers down his cheek and along his strong jaw, the tickle of his beard delightful. “Just as you are my husband.”_ _

__His smile at hearing that is more precious than she’s ever seen it. The sight making her heart threaten to burst._ _

__He cups her face gently in his hands, bringing her forehead to his. “I thought I had an idea what this would mean to me before, but now? Now I…I cannot even find the words to describe what I feel. I love you just isn't enough.”_ _

__He’s so blindingly honest. There's not an ounce of guile to be found within him. Not in his words, choices, or actions. Even his looks and touches only hold unadorned candor._ _

__The reserved, stoic king that just about drove her mad is still there, but now it's him that hides more often than not, while the dark, needy, wild man that was hidden underneath, the one she adores, gifts her with his presence._ _

__Dany takes one of his hands in hers and lays it over her heart, shaking her head and giving him a sweet smile. “No, but I love you too. And you do not need words, my love. I can feel it here in my heart and see it in your eyes.”_ _

__“Aye.”_ _

__The longer he considers her, the tighter her insides become. He is a force untamable, invading her every pore with his entire being. Her blood rises like the tides, pulled by his every move. He draws her out of herself so effortlessly. Undoing her with those soul searing, depthless eyes. It hurts to look at him, but it would hurt even more to look away._ _

__But as his fathomless black pools measure her she suddenly fears she may come up short. Not in any physical way, but… He’s never questioned her about the horrible things she's done as a queen. Perhaps he didn't want to know. What will happen when he's brought face to face with that side of her?_ _

__A heavy frown forms on his brow as his hands come up to cup hers again. “Hey, what's this? What's wrong?”_ _

__She dips her head, hiding from him, watching her fingers trace over the lines of his doublet. “I’m yours now, forever. What happens when you finally see me for what I really am?”_ _

__He gently lifts her head, a rough thumb stroking along her cheekbone. “I already see you for what you are.”_ _

__“No, Jon. You’ve never seen me burn men alive. You’ve never truly seen the dragon I can be.”_ _

__He lets go of her only to wrap an arm around her waist and pull her close. His other hand brushes a long strand of hair over her shoulder, his fingers then running through it. “Maybe not, but you’ve never seen that side of me either. You have your dragons to end lives for you, I take them with my own hands.”_ _

__“I know. I don’t care.”_ _

__Her chin in his grasp, his midnight orbs become impossibly darker, frustration and adoration burning in equal parts as they peer at her. “And you think I should feel any different about you? If I had wanted, I could've had my pick of the Northern lord’s daughters,” he declares, words quick and harsh. She scowls after them, earning a cheeky grin. He enjoys her jealousy. He eases it quickly though. “I never gave them a second thought, not even a first. I’ve never wanted a simperin lady, up in her tower brushin her hair all day and faintin at the first sight a blood. I wanted a warrior princess.” His hand returns to her face, palming her cheek tenderly. “Who I got is even better than that. I have a queen for a wife. A warrior, a fighter, a conqueror. One with a good heart, full of love for her people and her husband. For our child.”_ _

__Just like that her worries are wiped away and she feels like silly girl. “And that is why I love you, Jon Snow,” she whispers, leaning into his touch, resting against his palm. “You love me as I am, for all that I am.”_ _

__“I do,” he answers, resting his forehead against hers._ _

__His heart burns within his chest, seeming to tremble and swell. Whatever it is, this feeling, it flows into his every nerve and vein lighting him on fire. She does this to him, Daenerys, Dany. His wife. She lights an inferno inside him making him brave and bold, making him feel invincible._ _

__He runs a finger along the neckline of her dress. “This is gorgeous on you and I’ll never forget you wearin it, but I want it off you. Now,” he orders, voice rough and strained with need._ _

__Leaning close, his warm breath flows over her as he marks a path along her jaw and up to her ear with his nose. Dany shivers, his beard leaving delicious, tantalizing scratches over her sensitive skin, his lips and tongue, warm, soft kisses._ _

__Before he can get too carried away she lifts the crown of roses from her head, not wanting them to become victims of their passion. When she gazes at him the fire in his eyes has banked to smoldering embers. They warm her from head to toe._ _

__“Thank you for my gift. It’s so lovely. I wish they could stay this way forever,” she whispers, fingering the delicate petals. Their color reminds her of moonlight glowing on snow covered ground. “Did you have Sansa make it?”_ _

__“I made it.”_ _

__“You did?”_ _

__A shy grin pulling at the corner of his full mouth, he holds up his thumb showing her the damage; an angry red puncture wound._ _

__Heart threatening to crack apart, she smiles, first kissing his injured thumb, then reaching up and tracing the handsome scar cut into his temple. He’s yet to tell her how that one came to be. “Your precious heart will be the death of me one day, Jon Snow.”_ _

__“By order of the King–not until you're old and grey.”_ _

__Rising up on her toes she places a soft kiss to his cheek. “I will do my very best to obey, your Grace.” She walks to the table beside their bed, laying down the winter roses. He’s yet to move from his spot since setting her on her feet though he’s tracked her every step, so she goes back to him, turning around and lifting her hair out of the way._ _

__Jon’s fingers make deft work of the ribbons running up her back and soon she's gloriously naked before him. Not wanting to be alone in that state, Dany helps him shed his own clothes, their fingers fumbling and eager at buckles and laces._ _

__Then they're standing bare as their name days, drinking each other in as if it's the first time. He needn't utter a word, his face tells her everything she should know._ _

__He’s grinning, more of a half-smirk really. It’s wolf like, sharp at the edges, his pearly white teeth shining from between his curved lips. His eyes are hungry, watching her like prey. Her pulse quickens. She’ll gladly be his prey in any way he wants her. Her blood grows fiery, burning with wicked, delicious thoughts. She wouldn’t be surprised if he smelled smoke._ _

__She wants to be devoured and devour him in return. To feel him under her hands, his skin against her own. To feel his hands on her while his hard, thick length is buried deep inside her._ _

__The yearning hollows her like a dreadful hunger, in her bones, her veins, her blood. It aches, the pressure building low and deep, spreading out and down between her legs, almost painfully. She never wants it to stop._ _

__“Look at ya.”_ _

__Startled, she glances down at herself, running her hands over her body, attempting to discern what he meant. “What? Is something wrong?”_ _

__Jon shakes his head. “I shoulda known. You're different.”_ _

__He steps closer, his calloused, but gentle hands cupping her breasts, weighing them in his palms. “They're bigger already, and the color.” A thumb ghosts over one nipple. “They’re darker, pinker than they were. And here,” He moves to her hips, rubbing down, then up, “just a touch wider.” He drops to his knees, sitting back on his heels, his hands now spreading over her stomach. “Gods, Dany,” he whispers, breathless. He takes her hand placing it on her stomach and covering it with his own, running both side to side. “Do you feel it? That's our babe.”_ _

__She does, just the faintest of knots, small and firm under her palm. She can't speak, she can barely look at him. The moment so tender and sweet, it's enough to rend her heart in two._ _

__He leans forward and presses a kiss to the small swell where their babe rests, then leans his forehead against her. “Hello, my little one. I'm your da.”_ _

__Tears burning her eyes, Dany sucks her lips between her teeth, biting hard, keep her sob contained. And even though his hands are holding her up, her own wrap around his head, fingers buried in his hair, to keep her steady._ _

__“Can you hear me in there?” he whispers. “I hope so. Your mum and I are so happy you're coming to be with us. I can't wait see you. We've not even known you were there a full day yet, but we already love ya. I promise when you get here things’ll be better. You're gonna grow up in the spring where there's sunshine and blue skies above ya and green grass between your little toes. Me and mum will give you brothers and sisters to play with and maybe you'll even have a dragon to ride or a wolf to run with you. Maybe both. Would you like that?”_ _

__Dany breaks then, her sobs no longer willing to be held back._ _

__Jon’s on his feet in an instant, hands at her face, smoothing away her tears. “No, love. Please don't cry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean—_ _

__She kisses him then, calling a halt to the suffering of her heart. Banishing the pain and fears, refusing to let them ruin this night for either of them. Her tongue sweeps between his teeth to dance with his, ragged breaths filling the spaces between their lips. Jon takes everything she’s giving and returns it two-fold, suddenly as unhinged as she is, until they're both gasping for air._ _

__“Are you alright?” he asks._ _

__“I'm fine. Please, Jon. Just love me.”_ _

__“Aye, I promise.”_ _

__He skims his hands down her back to her ass, gripping it firmly and picking her up. Dany continues her assault, her plump lips and scalding tongue teasing his neck and collarbone, while she presses her greedy center over his rock hard cock, squirming against his grip, her legs locked around his waist._ _

__Groaning, the sensations approaching painful, Jon moves them to the bed and lays her down, prying himself loose to avoid taking her then and there. He means for tonight to last as long as possible. Standing over her, he gazes at her gorgeous body, from the top of her silver head to her tiny feet and only has one thought._ _

___Mine. ____ _

____Before he can act on it, or feel an ounce of guilt, Dany grabs his arm and pulls him down over her, fed up with his stalling. Their lips and bodies crash together and she kisses him like some starving animal. Like she’ll die if she doesn't. Like his mouth can keep her living and breathing forever._ _ _ _

____He knows he can’t, but for tonight he can. Giving her all the passion he possesses, hoping it will satisfy her._ _ _ _

____She does the same, with her every touch, moan, and heartbeat. He can feel it through her skin pounding into his like thunderous waves crashing against a cliff, determined to keep them going, never ending as the tides._ _ _ _

____“I need you Jon. Now,” she gasps, his teeth nipping at her neck, hands everywhere at once._ _ _ _

____“Not yet,” he breathes, just as needy, but somehow able to restrain himself._ _ _ _

____She seethes, her grip tightening in his hair. “You’ve done nothing but tempt me all day. Enough.”_ _ _ _

____His eyes sparkle as he pulls free from her grasp, undeterred by her fierce demand. Enblazened by it instead he kisses a trail down her chest, then further, hovering just above a nipple. “Let me make it up to you,” he whispers, his warm breath blowing over the stiff peak._ _ _ _

____Seeing the promise in his gaze, Dany whimpers in anticipation. He’s never left her anything but thoroughly sated and her nipples are red and hot and throbbing the way she imagines scalded flesh must feel. Pain will mix with pleasure and she has no doubt it will be worth it._ _ _ _

____He bites, so gently, then drags his teeth up and off the tender bud, sending a sharp but luscious tingle through her before moving over and doing the same to the other._ _ _ _

____Humming with satisfaction, Dany runs her hands up his arms and over the warm, pale skin of his shoulders and into his silky curls. “I might let you. But you’re going to have to be more convincing than that,” she provokes him._ _ _ _

____He winks, giving a devious grin. “I think I can manage.”_ _ _ _

____He’s so beautiful her heart flips and a flurry of butterflies dance in her stomach. It happens all the time. He’ll tilt his head a certain way, or he’ll smile just so, his eyes shiny black pools filled with his heart and crinkled at the corners. It’s as if the ground under her disappears. She's always tumbling head over heels around him and doesn’t think he’ll ever stop having that effect on her. She doesn't want him to._ _ _ _

____She caresses his face with her fingers, a stupid smile plastered across her own. His eyes soften in response. Dany doesn’t have to say anything. He knows. He always knows. There’s no hope of hiding it, and more importantly, no reason to._ _ _ _

____“I love you too,” he whispers, leaning up to kiss her. Then his hands grasp a breast in each and his searing tongue is circling and licking one nipple while his expert fingers roll and pinch the other._ _ _ _

____Her hips rise up against his hard, rippled stomach, moans soon joining the crackling of the fire._ _ _ _

____He wraps his mouth around one and sucks greedily for several beats before pinching it tight between his lips and pulling away, releasing it with a slight pop. “I may not let you out of this room for days,” he groans, going right back to work licking and sucking, pinching and twisting._ _ _ _

____She's too lost in the sensations he's creating to respond, very nearly bringing herself to climax grinding against him. But he suddenly sits back, fingers raking up her thighs. Dany whines like a petulant child making him laugh. She can see his straining cock desperate for attention, the plump, thick head already glistening, but before she can reach for it to even things out between them he drops to the floor and manhandles her until her ass is at the side of the bed._ _ _ _

____Any protest she may have had disappears as he spreads her thighs and pushes her knees back, holding them hostage in his strong grip. Her heart quickens as his sweet face lowers between her legs, his expression filled with craving as he gazes at her flooded, swollen core._ _ _ _

____She know what’s coming._ _ _ _

____Complete and utter intoxication._ _ _ _

____Jon begins placing feather light kisses over her thighs, his full lips, heated tongue, and coarse beard divine punishment as they work closer and closer to her starving center, but never close enough. Then his hands are kneading her breasts, fingers rolling her nipples between them, pulling and tugging. They're so sensitive the barest of touches set her ablaze._ _ _ _

____He teases her for what seems like forever, her hips rocking up and down, all but franic for more than the tiny kisses he’s giving. His warm breath heats her already burning skin. Every inch of her is tingling. She knows what he’s waiting on, so she gives in and begs._ _ _ _

____“Jon, please.”_ _ _ _

____He answers her request, his hot tongue sliding through her folds in one, long, slow sweep. The furs are fisted tight in her hands, her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip to keep a cry from escaping._ _ _ _

____His thumb immediately pulls it free. “None of that,” he demands, his voice leaving a rough burning trail through her like rich, red wine. “No one's around. I want to hear you.”_ _ _ _

____She doesn't have a chance to speak. His tongue steals her breath as he drags it up the right side of her flushed core, then circles her bundle of nerves with just the tip. He moves to the left, repeating the same, then up the middle again, pulling her swollen nub into his mouth as soon as he reaches it, sucking gently, before letting go to flick it a few times._ _ _ _

____Over and over–slowly, so slowly–drag, circle, suck, flick. All the while her nipples never lose the joy of his fingers. It's agonizing, exquisite torment and she never wants it to end._ _ _ _

____Jon savors her. Her essence sweeter than any wine that's ever crossed his tongue. He could drink from her for hours, but the divine taste of her makes his cock ache to be buried within her slippery heat. It twitches and throbs pressed against the furs of the bed. It's a near thing keeping his hands busy. He wants to wrap one around it and work himself till he spills all over her pale skin. One night soon, but not tonight._ _ _ _

____When her walls begin to clench and quiver, he stops, blowing cool air over her heated skin and releases her tender nipples. He means to torture his comely bride into a frenzy._ _ _ _

____Dany whines and squirms in protest, her sweat sheened body craving more. She won’t ask though, he knows. Not yet. She’s not in any hurry to rush him, knowing he loves it as much as she does. Maybe more. He also knows he won’t be stopping until she begs him too._ _ _ _

____He slides his hands up the back of her wriggling thighs and grasps her around the knees, spreading her wider. “Be still.”_ _ _ _

____“You know I can’t help...fuck!”_ _ _ _

____His tongue is sultry, wet velvet being brushed across her fevered flesh. So lightly she barely feels it, yet it sends shocks of ecstasy through her with each pass. Her legs tremble and hips jerk, but constant and unceasing, Jon doesn’t waver until she’s crying for relief._ _ _ _

____“Oh gods! Please, Jon. I can’t!”_ _ _ _

____He stops, his fingers taking over, running through her slick juices. Pressing against her aching lips. “So wet for me,” he growls, “So gorgeous.”_ _ _ _

____She's mewling now, her control long gone._ _ _ _

____“Are you ready to cum, wife?”_ _ _ _

____“Gods, yes. Please, Jon!”_ _ _ _

____“Pinch your nipples for me. Don’t you dare stop til you’re cummin.”_ _ _ _

____She whimpers, reaching up and doing as he asked. The second she tugs against them he slides two fingers inside her eager, soaked core and seals his mouth around her swollen bud working both slowly._ _ _ _

____“Yes, Jon. More, more.”_ _ _ _

____He does as she bids, gradually building up speed, the delicious ache within her getting stronger and stronger. Dany doesn’t recognize the noises coming from her. Then he’s curling his fingers, pulling hard and fast against the spot inside her only he seems to know, his tongue exquisite agony against her clit._ _ _ _

____She shatters, exploding into thousands of luscious splinters, wave after wave of bliss engulfing her._ _ _ _

____Then he’s over her and seconds later inside her, buried to the hilt. Dany screams out, loving it when he first enters her, filling, stretching her so completely. And that deep satisfying groan that always leaves him is pure ravenous want. But this time Jon stops, pinning her to the bed._ _ _ _

____His every muscle shakes as he attempts to stay still and let her adjust. Her tight walls quivering as they clasp his cock, already trying to milk him dry. She’s luscious as velvet, so hot and so fucking wet wrapped around him. He's only hanging onto his control by a thread._ _ _ _

____“Dany? Did I hurt you? Either of you?” he gasps, barely recognizing his own voice it’s so manic with lust._ _ _ _

____“Gods, Jon, no. Please don’t stop. Fuck me,” she pants, writhing under his pressing restraint, nails clawing at his back._ _ _ _

____“How d’you know?”_ _ _ _

____The worry in his voice is a dash of cold water to her lust. She stills, going soft beneath him. He loves her so, and their babe, he only wants them protected even of it's from him. She holds him close, running her hands over his head and a foot over the crisp hair covering his leg. “It feels too good to have hurt me,” she assures him, kissing his temple. “and I had Gilly make some inquiries for us.”_ _ _ _

____His head pops up. “What?”_ _ _ _

____She fingers a curl away from his face. “I sent her to the midwife in Wintertown. Adara, I believe her name is. She told her sex was perfectly safe, good even, as long as there was no bleeding.”_ _ _ _

____“You promise? I couldn't take it if I hurt you.”_ _ _ _

____“You won’t hurt us, my love. If I even think for a moment it will, I'll tell you. I promise.”_ _ _ _

____Sliding her hand around his shoulder, she pulls him closer. Instead of going for his mouth as he expects she grabs his hand, raising it towards her lips then slowly sucks the two fingers he just had inside her into her mouth. Jon’s eyes roll back in his head as she licks them clean, sliding her tongue up, then around, taking in her salty juices still clinging to his skin._ _ _ _

____He groans and shudders, his hips forcing his cock deeper. “Fook, woman. Are you tryin to kill me?”_ _ _ _

____“Only a little,” she whispers against his lips, then sucks his bottom one between her own._ _ _ _

____His mouth attacks hers in a fervent kiss and they both lose their senses until they have to have air. He braces himself on his hands above her, his hips continuing their slow, deep rhythm, while he groans with each thrust._ _ _ _

____She's learned his body and wants so well she knows with just a few squeezes and the right tilt of her hips she could bring him to release, but she doesn’t. Instead, she revels in his pleasure and her own, watching his gorgeous body work above her, thick muscles bunching and sliding beneath pale skin, the tendons of his beautiful neck cording and stretching, while his strokes stay smooth and fluid, allowing them to feel every wonderful inch of each other._ _ _ _

____Unable to stay passive she kisses across his chest, lightly biting and licking at his nipples while grabbing a handful of his flawless ass._ _ _ _

____His pretty face contorts with lust, a predatory growl escaping his throat as he tilts his head back and thrusts forward, his sexy mouth parted as he pants, “Again.”_ _ _ _

____He has a thing about her playing with them and nothing brings him to the edge or pushes him over as quickly. She delights in the control it gives her. He keeps such a tight rein upon himself in all things, it's addicting to force his surrender. Most of the time._ _ _ _

____“No,” she denies, choking on a sudden sob. “I don't want it to be over.”_ _ _ _

____His eyes lock with hers, pupils wide and full of so many emotions she can't keep up with them, but she sees the recognition, knows he understood her words meant more than they said. He covers her, wraps her tightly to him with his entire body and whispers in her ear,  
“No one will ever pry me away from you, not even the seven hells and all their demons.”_ _ _ _

____Just like that she’s ready to fall apart again, his heart breaking her will. Jon's here with her, loving her and it's heaven despite the horrors the morning will bring nipping at their heels._ _ _ _

____He drives forward making her gasp and her eyes roll back in her head from the intensity. Her thighs grip his sides tighter, fingers biting into his arms as he slams into her again and again, his angle perfect, grinding on her clit with each exquisite thrust of his hips. Dany feels him swelling, hardening even more. It pulls her closer to the peak she's struggling not to tumble over._ _ _ _

____"Open your eyes, Dany. Look at me."_ _ _ _

____The tremor in his voice pulls at her heart, her eyes flying open with worry. His breath is rushing out in gusts from between his plump, bruised lips, cheeks flushed, eyes red around flaming black. "I need to see, I need to…" he pants, never slowing his pace._ _ _ _

____"I'm here, right here," she gasps, fighting not to let go before he does. "I love you, Jon, I love you."_ _ _ _

____His eyes squeezing shut, a single tear sliding down his cheek. It triggers her own to quickly swell and spill over. She holds him, hands grasping, as his back arches and his hips curl tighter and deeper into hers. He's pushing her further, begging her with his body to fall. She holds on just a little longer, threading her fingers through his thick locks, pulling lightly, hoping to open his eyes. She wants to see him too. It works and she's gifted with his precious heart spilling all its love for her from his wonderful eyes._ _ _ _

____His thrusts speed up, becoming deeper and more insistent, erratic. Dany pursues them with fervor, tilting her hips until he’s bottoming out against her womb, squeezing him, letting her walls massage him in time with his strokes. His grip tightens in her hair, he takes a sharp breath. "I love you.” Then he's gone–gone beyond where she can reach him, but still she follows, diving into the glorious abyss after him, chasing her own pleasure._ _ _ _

____They come back to themselves sometime later, still breathing heavily and both damp with sweat. He places gentle kisses over her cheeks while his fingers brush her hair away from her face. She finds his lips with her own, kissing them softly. They make a silent pact to keep the fear away a little longer, to rest in each other all they can, while they can._ _ _ _

____Before sleep can claim them he rolls off the bed, landing on his feet. Picking her up before she has time to protest too much, he heads for the door connected to their solar._ _ _ _

____“Where are we going?” she asks._ _ _ _

____“I got you all dirty, time to clean you up.”_ _ _ _

____“What?”_ _ _ _

____Jon stays quiet, knowing she'll figure it out._ _ _ _

____Sure enough she does as soon as she sees the copper tub sitting before the fire. “Was that here before?”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah. I meant for us to have a soak when got here. Figured you'd be cold, but I got a bit ahead of myself,” he admits with a sly grin._ _ _ _

____“Mmmm, you managed to warm me up quite nicely all by yourself,” she coos as he sets her on her feet, then gathers her hair in his hands._ _ _ _

____Dany stills, enjoying the feel of his fingers as they braid the long strands together. Cherishing it for the sweet moment it is. “It's not as well done as Missandei woulda done it, but it should do for now,” he murmurs, pinning the long braid at the crown of her head, then kissing her shoulder._ _ _ _

____She places a hand to his cheek then kisses the other. “Thank you.”_ _ _ _

____He smiles sweetly. “Check the water, I’ve got some over there if it's not hot enough for you,” he says pointing to the large pot hanging just above the fire._ _ _ _

____She trails her fingers through water. “A bit more please,” she requests, then steps back when he carefully empties the steaming pot into the tub._ _ _ _

____Climbing in, she lets out a satisfying moan as the hot water envelopes her. Jon does the same, sliding in behind her then pulling her back against his chest._ _ _ _

____Dany stretches out, loving the feel of him hard and sturdy behind her. She runs her hands down his thighs while he settles his over her stomach. “This is wonderful, _husband. _We should do this more often.”___ _ _ _

______“We should, _wife _,” he hums, contented. “I feel like a bee drownin in honey. I’ve never been happier. The world is coming down around us, we could be dead in a few days, but these last few months, today, tonight…” He presses his cheek to the side of her head, placing a kiss to her temple. “I’ve never known happiness like this. Everythin I’ve suffered has all been worth it, because I’ve had you to love in my last days.”___ _ _ _ _ _

________“These are _not _our last days.”___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________His hands cover hers, prying them loose from his legs. He laces their fingers together before wrapping her in his arms. “You know what I mean.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________She relents, sinking into his embrace with a sigh. “I do.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________They sit silent, just holding one another, then Jon reaches for the chunk of soap and scrap of linen. He bathes her, slowly, reverently. She reciprocates, cleaning every inch of his muscled form with loving hands. Peace finds them for a time, their bodies and minds thoroughly sated and relaxed until Jon suddenly groans._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Gods.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________She glances up, finding he’s got a hand over his face, his mouth turned down in its usual brooding frown. He’s been free and unburdened most of the night, it hurts to see him so. “What is it, my love?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“I think I may have broken Lyanna Mormont's heart.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________That’s so unexpected she laughs. “What now? She was there, smiling even. Your talk must have went well, surely.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He runs his thumb and forefinger slowly across his eyebrows, sighing. “Aye, most of it. But when she first got there...I may have given her the wrong impression.” Her brows draw together, twisting comically. “Not on purpose,” he rushes out._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Dany snorts. “Jon. I know that. Tell me what happened and maybe I can ease your mind,” she encourages him, rubbing his knee where it peeks above the water._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________His fingers begin to idly play over her shoulder as he stares into the fire. “I had Davos bring her to the gardens. That was my first mistake. I should've met her somewhere else. I was makin your crown, we talked and needled each other a bit about our tempers. Then she blushed.” He throws his head back again, groaning, “Gods, Dany, I felt sick.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Her light airy laughter floats around the room as she turns to pet his chest then lays against it. “Oh, my poor, sweet love. Of course she has feelings for you.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________His head jerks upright. “Of course?” he huffs, exasperated. “Why, of course? I'm nearly ten years older than her.” The thought obviously disturbs him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Dany, only smiling now stretches up and kisses his succulent pout. “True, but you're also everything a girl could dream of.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He huffs again, rolling his eyes, unimpressed with her reasoning._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________She tries a different approach. “You're a king, my love. An honorable one. Fair and just. You love your people, you fight for them. You're the greatest swordsman there is, and the most handsome man alive.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Am not,” he grunts, his pout growing impossibly more adorable._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Dany has to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Once she trusts herself not to, she bops him on the nose. “Are too,” she retorts. “I doubt there's a woman or girl alive who's ever laid eyes on you, besides your sisters, that doesn't wish you were theirs.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He cocks an eyebrow. “Is that so?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“It is. Even as vexed as I was after our first meeting, I wished for you. You are quite a man, Jon Snow,” she hums, soft and slow._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________His smile returns, dripping pure sex._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Dany sits up, then slips over his thighs to settle on his lap. The fire has him bathed in golden light, each clinging drop of water a tiny flame seeming to dance over him. He’s so beautiful she can hardly bear it. Not his pale skin flushed with warmth, not his inky eyes shining from under sleepy lids holding more love than she has any right to receive, not the inviting curve of those sublime lips, not his raven hair, damp and heavy against his neck, nor the scars he hates so much, that in her eyes only add to his perfection._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________She had intended for them to take their sleep, but not now. Now she will let herself be utterly lost in him for a few more hours, and him in her, taking their slice of peace with greedy hands. The morning will come soon enough and with it their looming terrors._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Pushing the grim thoughts aside, she thinks of more pleasant things. “You were magnificent today, did you know that?” she asks, sliding her fingers through his wet curls, her nails scraping lightly against his scalp. She’s rewarded with a low rumble from his chest and the pleasing stretch of his neck as he drops his head back, eyes closing. Taking advantage she presses closer, leaving no space between them from her lips trailing kissing across his collarbone to further down where their bodies are only a tilt of the hips away from being one. “My wolf. My dragon. My ice and fire,” she whispers, causing chillbumps to prickle his skin. “I wanted to take you and be taken by you right there in the middle of all your lords,” she purrs, the tip of her tongue now tasting the shell of his ear. “I’ve been burning for you ever since.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________His groan is deep and slow, one of pure want as his hands begin to map her dewy skin, his hardened cock rocking against her. “You just had me.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“And I’d have you again.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He growls then, his lips a breath from hers. “As you wish, my queen. My wife. My fire and blood.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	13. It's bloody and raw, but I swear it is sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany's first day as husband and wife has a few bumps and a surprise visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! 
> 
> I did not expect to get this done quiet this quick, I had no clue what came next, but with the help of my wonderful Discerning Tarts, urging and encouraging me, my muse got in gear. 
> 
> Some of you may think Jon's a bit cranky, blame him, he does what he wants, I have no control over him anymore. Blame Meisie for the smuttiness (go, no, RUN to read her fic if you haven't already). Thank Ashleyfanfic for the last scene, she set a plot fire under my muse. And thank Sparkles59 for making it all nice and clean. 
> 
> To those fabulous ladies and to the rest of my awesome Tarts–Frostbitepanda, jaqtkd, and NoOrdinaryLines– I love you all bunches!! You never fail to make my days brighter!!

She's barely rolled over, snuggling into Jon's warmth, when their babe makes itself known again. This time though she isn't alone. His gentle hands gather her hair and hold it back. Once the awful retching passes, he cleans her face with a cool rag, and has water ready for her to rinse with. He carries her back to bed, wrapping her up to ease the chill that's taken her.  


His face is pained, his dark eyes clouded with worry as he looks down at her, brushing back her sweaty hair. “I'm sorry. I did this to you.”  


Dany shakes her head. “Don't you dare. I would suffer a thousand mornings, noons, and nights if that's what it took to hold our child in my arms,” she assures him, bringing his hand to her lips and kissing his fingers.  


“Aye, I just wish I could take on some of it for you. It's not right you have to suffer alone.”

She rubs a hand over his warm, hard thigh, the crisp hairs under her palm teasing them both. “You're sweet, but it's not really all that bad. Having you here with me is more than enough, and both of us feeling wretched would not make us very effective rulers, now would it?” she asks, smiling and cutting her eyes at him, while tickling him with her nails in hopes of lifting his spirits.  


It doesn't work. He stops her, moving her hand from him and back on the bed, his brooding mask firmly in place. “No, it wouldn't.” The sigh he lets out is harsh and holds the weight of a hundred millstones within it.  


She can almost feel his discontent rising to the surface, see the worry and fear etching themselves between his brows and darkening his eyes. She attempts to stop them before they can build up and boil over. “ _Please_. Don't,” she whispers, gripping his hand, her tone gentle. “I don’t want to start our first day as husband and wife fighting.”  


He doesn't respond, instead letting her go with a worn smile to run a hand over her hair. Then he stands and begins gathering up his clothes. Once his leathers and undershirt are on he goes to the window, looking out at the falling snow while he buttons his doublet. The flakes look heavy and thick this morning.  


“Stay and rest a bit longer,” he tells her.  


“You could too, you know?” she suggests, her words soft and careful.  


Still avoiding her gaze, he puts his jerkin on next, buckling it at his sides. “You know I want to, but there's too much to do.”  


“I know.” She did her best to keep the hurt from her voice. He does want to stay, but he also wants to go. Either way he's right, there's no more time for losing themselves in one another.  


“I’ll send Missandei in with some food. Maybe bread and eggs?” he asks, coming to sit by her again to pull on his boots.  


Dany groans, covering her mouth with her hand, the thought of runny yolks causing her stomach to twist. “Gods no, no eggs.”  


Jon chuckles despite her discomfort, rubbing a warm, callused hand over her back. Both ease much more than just her stomach. 

“Alright, something else then.”  


“The bread’s fine, maybe some fruit if there's any to be had.”  


He leans over and snatches his leather hair tie from the floor where she discarded it the night before, then starts combing his curls back with his fingers. “I’ll see what we can find and I’ll ask Sam if he knows of a tea that might settle your stomach,” he mumbles around the tie clenched in his teeth.  


“Thank you. Here, let me help.” She sits up and pulls the tie from his mouth. It only takes her a minute and she has him looking like the fierce Northern king he is.  


He smiles at her over his shoulder. “Thank you.”  


She fits herself against his back, nowhere near ready to lose him for the day, wrapping her arms around him, nose and lips pressed to the smooth patch of skin just under his ear that's always hidden by his curls. He’s firm and solid, all muscle, beautiful and strong within her grasp. The leather of his jerkin is hard and cold against her bare skin. The rich, earthy and slightly sweet smell of it mixes with his warm musky scent, both permeating her senses. He weakens her, as always, making all of her soften and melt down and out from between her thighs.  


His rough hands find her, grasping flesh, as his head falls back against her shoulder. A deep rasping groan works its way from his throat. “You tempt me, woman, far too much.”  


“You do the same to me,” she whispers in his ear. “Stay, husband.”  


He turns, rubbing his scratchy beard against her cheek before kissing away the sting. “My wicked wife, one of us must keep our senses as much as I hate it. It's already late.” He pats the side of her ass, then untangles himself from her arms before standing up.  


She catches his fingers before he goes too far, holding him hostage a moment longer as she lays back down. He turns, his smile so vulnerable it does nothing to hide the press and strain of their troubles from his lovely eyes. The sight of it nearly breaks her, to know she cannot ease his fears, that no amount of loving distractions will lift the burdens. It leaves her heart feeling like a raw nerve, sharp and aching. She gives him the only peace she can. “I love you, Jon.”  


He comes back to her side, standing over her, silent and unwavering in his affection. Then he leans down, bracing his weight on one hand beside her head while the other cups her cheek. He stares for a moment longer, drinking her in, eyes grateful and apologetic all at once. “I love you,” he whispers, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead, then resting his against it. “I’ll see you in a bit and I may even let you have your way with me tonight.”  


She smiles after his wink. “I may let you do the same.”  


Turning over once he leaves, she clutches his pillow to her chest, burying her face into the cool linen to breathe in his scent. She doesn't let the tears come until his boot steps have faded away outside their door.  


\---  


Jon finds Missandei and Sam in the great hall, asking both to check on his wife and her disgruntled stomach. With understanding smiles they hurry to do his bidding. He breaks his fast, concentrating on his food for the most part, other than going over things with Davos, Sansa, and Tyrion.  


Thank the gods there's no news, disturbing or otherwise, and all their people are busy doing their parts with little to no grumbling. He leaves the three of them to meet with the lords. They aren't on board with his decision until he tells them his wish not to stand before them until Dany is there with him so they can announce their marriage and deal with the backlash together.  


With the morning meal done, another day of preparations begins in earnest. The castle, camps, and Wintertown are a swarm of activity even with the heavy snows falling and the stinging cold. Trebuchets are being built to fling fireballs at the wights. Ser Jamie and Bronn, with Sam and Tyrion’s books are helping begin construction on the scorpions. 

Dozensof others sit under awnings and passageways, out of the snowfall, shaping dragonglass blades and arrow tips. The Hound and Brienne have taken it upon themselves to train the townsfolk. They fill the practice yard with the wacks and thunks of wooden swords clashing together.  


All the forges are sending pillars of black smoke into the white sky, like giant chard trees rising from the snow. Seeing them gives Jon hope, no matter the nagging voice that tells him to keep that hope reserved. They should have most of the metal melted down by the end of the day and once Dany’s blood is added to it they'll soon have Valyrian blades.  


With Dany still resting, Jon goes to Rhaegal. The ground and trenches are once again covered in snow and ice that must be cleared away for work to continue. Being their first line of defense, they cannot wait. Drogon is not pleased with his mother's absence, but with some gentle words from Jon, he follows them into the air. They make quick work of it, then melt as much of the snow as they can around the camps to help warm the wet white air surrounding them. Soon he’s sending the dragons off to hunt hoping they understood he wants them to stay close and return home soon.  


Checking with Grey Worm and then Ohono to see how their people are faring in the horrible weather is next on his list. Guilt nearly smothers him seeing the ones taken by sickness huddled around fires, their grey gaunt faces staring out at him from snow covered furs. They may have followed Daenerys here, but he's just as responsible, it's his home they're staying in. More has to be done for them. He promises both commanders he’ll send the Maester and whatever healers can be found to do what they can. They agree to keep them all fed, as warm as possible, and isolated as well until then.  


He heads straight to the Maester’s tower, intent on the two of them coming up with something they can do to remedy the problem. If he has to throw the bull headed northern lords out of the castle and into the snow to make room for them he will. Winter runs through their veins, they're much more likely to handle the bitter cold than Daenerys’ warm blooded armies.  


His mind is so focused on problem, he forgets to knock, striding right in. The three occupants inside startle at his sudden presence, then freeze, wide-eyed and mouths gaping as they stare back at him.  


Maester Wolkan he expected, Sam was also a possibility, but his tiny wife, laid out on a table and covered with a sheet except for one pale arm sticking out with a tube of some sort stuck in it, he did not. Jon manages to keep his calm until his eyes follow the tube and find it spilling Dany's bright red blood into a glass jar sitting on the floor.  


Whether it's the wolf, the dragon, or some other beast that lives inside him, the sight unleashes it. The door slams closed with a resounding thud behind him as he stalks towards them.  


“Jon,” Dany calls, keeping her tone soothing.  


“Get whatever the fook that is out of her arm. Now,” he snarls at Wolken, ignoring her completely.  


The maester jumps into action, hands fluttering. “Right away, your Grace.”  


“Jon, she's alright,” Sam tries, voice quivering, his smile tight. “We would never hurt her. It's for the steel, remember?”  


The attempt to placate him only incites Jon further. “Aye. A _few_ drops you said. Just a _few_ ,” he sneers, quiet and lethal. Then the tether holding his fury in snaps. “You call that a _few_ fookin drops?!” he roars, sounding every bit as vicious as Ghost when he senses a threat.  


Dany calls him again, louder this time, but gently still, the way she’d speak to a bristling Drogon. “Jon.”  


She still doesn't reach him, his focus solely on Maester Wolkan as he removes the sharpened reed from her arm and staunches the small gush of blood with some clean linen.  


“A few drops per batch is what I meant,” Sam squeaks. “We've got a dozen forges and there's several melting pots for each.”  


“I don’t fookin care how many bloody forges we’ve got. She's pregnant. Did they tell you that, Maester Wolkan?” Jon asks, his voice holding more than a bit of cheekiness. “Did they? Did they tell you she barely fookin eats anymore and what she does gets hurled back up every mornin? Did they–”  


“Jon Snow!”  


He spins on her then, eyes black and sharp as a sword edge. “WHAT?” The question comes out as more of a grunted growl than an actual word, his northern burr mixing heavily with his anger.  


Dany controls her own, staying calm and collected enough for the two of them. “I'm fine. And yes, Maester Wolkan knows everything and has ensured me we’ll both be more than alright. I wouldn't have risked this otherwise.” She raises a queenly eyebrow at him as Wolken wraps more linen around her arm to keep pressure against the small wound. “I'm a bit insulted you would think so poorly of your own wife.”  


That finally does it, her words as effective as a bucket of ice water being dumped on him. He sulls up, his perfect pout and brooding eyebrows making their appearance, while a flush blooms across his cheeks.  


Dany drops her head to hide her smirk as she sits up, holding the sheet to her chest maintain her modesty. “Help me with my dress?” she asks him sweetly.  


One glare from their king and Sam and Wolkan turn around as he moves behind her and helps her slips her arms into the sleeves, then back around to fasten it for her. He scoops her up the moment he’s finished. She holds in a sigh and swallows down her protest knowing he needs to be in control for the moment.  


“Thank you both for taking care of me. Give us an hour Sam and we'll meet at Gendry's forge, alright?” Dany tells him.  


“Of course, yer Grace.” He holds out two oranges in his shaky hands. “Eat these, both if you can. The sugar will help you feel better.”  


“Thank you, Sam.”  


Wolkan takes a tentative step forward then, slipping a small vial of milky liquid into Dany’s hand. “And for your stomach, your Grace. Remember, only a little in your tea each morning.”  


“Of course, Maester Wolkan. Thank you.”  


When Jon stays stubbornly silent Dany smacks him on the back of the head. His lips pinch and his eyes narrow, but he quits his brooding long enough to speak. “Thank you for takin care of her. If you would, I’d appreciate you both and whoever else is learned enough in healing to visit the Queen's armies as soon as possible. They and their families are not farin well with this cold. Too many are fallin ill. They need better shelter, more furs, food, and medicine. If we have to use the great hall as a sick ward, so be it. Or if you feel enough of them could make the journey, send them south to White Harbor.”  
Sam and Wolken agree to go straight away so Jon spins around and takes them out the door. He ignores the sudden silence from the courtyard below and the countless sets of eyes staring up at them, following their every step.  


“Perhaps you should put me down, Jon. We’re drawing a lot of attention,” she whispers.  


“Do I look like I fookin care?” he grunts, never slowing his pace.  


Dany snorts, amused with her husband's grumpiness. She should be furious with him, but his worry is too endearing. “No, as a matter of fact, you don't, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't.” The first moment they're out of sight she places a quick kiss on his flushed cheek. “Thank you for looking after my people. It means a lot to me.”  


He pulls a face, blowing out a quick breath through his nose and keeps walking, intent on their destination. Once they make to their chambers she’s thankful one of her Unsullied stands guard so there's no odd looks to pretend not to see. He opens the door for them and closes it quietly behind them.  


Jon takes her straight to the bed, laying her down with care, covering her with furs. Still silent, he takes the oranges from her and walks across the room. She watches as he stokes the fire first then begins peeling an orange, throwing the peels into flames making them sizzle and throw colorful sparks up the flue. He keeps his back to her, head down. She only catches glimpses of the side of his face when he tosses in another peel. His jaw is clenched, the muscle jumping, lips pressed together tight while his nostril flares.  


His worry is getting the best of him, but she's partly to blame. _If she had let him know..._  


He spins around, walking towards her. He’s finished with the first orange, bringing it to over, eyes still avoiding. “Eat, please.”  


She takes it, her movements ginger and smooth, voice even more so. “Thank you.”  


He just grunts and heads back to the fire.  


“What can I do to make you feel better?” she whispers after swallowing down her second piece.  


He rounds on her, scowl fierce. “You know what would make me feel better? Takin you over my knee and blistering that pretty arse of yours until it was red as roses. _That's what._ An if you weren't heavin up your stomach every few hours and hadn't just drained yourself of half your blood believe me I would.”  


Dany gasps. “You’d dare lay a hand on me?” The thought is as outrageous as it is enticing.  


“Aye, I would,” he barks. “You deserve it for scaring me half to death.”  


He’s not altogether wrong.  


She points to his fist that's strangling her innocent piece of fruit, while trying not to smirk too obviously. “You’re draining my orange of all it's juice.”  


His hand jerks up, face a disgruntled snarl at seeing what he's done. He lets out a heavy sigh. “Seven bloody hells.”  


She's just finished chewing her last piece when he crosses the room again to join her, after peeling the rest of the mangled fruit then washing his hands. He sits down at her hip, orange held out like an olive branch. “I'm sorry.”  


Dany plucks the fruit from his grasp, then laces the fingers of her free hand with his, meeting his sorrowful eyes. “I know. I am too. I should've found you and taken you with me, but I thought we could have it done and over with and you wouldn't have to be worried.”  


He takes a deep breath, squeezing her hand. “Next time, just so you know, I’d much rather be worried for an hour than gutted by fear for a few minutes. Alright?”  


Dany sits up and strokes his cheek, then runs a thumb over his pouty lip, shaken to the core for the thousandth time that this precious man has given himself to her heart and soul. “Alright.”  


Suddenly he has her caught by the back of the neck, his lips crashing into hers. It's a desperate, almost violent kiss, all clashing teeth and tongues as if he wants to devour and absorb her so she'll always be a part of him.  


When he finally lets her go she's wrecked, a jumble of emotions, wants, and needs. The wants win out. “Would you really spank me?” she whispers, still panting from lack of air.  


He growls a bit, tilting her head back to open it up for his greedy mouth. “You say that like you want me to.”  
  
She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth then lets it slide free as she rolls her eyes towards the ceiling and lays back down with a sigh, pulling him with her. “It's something we haven't tried.”  


“No, we haven't,” he agrees, voice delightfully raspy. “Maybe we should.” The gleam in his inky pools sends a lovely shiver down her spine. He’s caged her in with his arms, staring down at her as he licks those perfect lips of his. Her own tongue darts out to wet hers on reflex. Jon smirks. “Do you think you’d like to be over my knee and held down while I ruck up your skirts and rip off your small clothes?” She hums, stretching like a cat in the sun beneath him. “Would you like to feel my rough hand rubbin over your soft skin before givin that plump arse a stingin slap?”  


Dany swallows deeply, warmth pooling low in her belly at the thought. “I think I would.”  


His smirk grows. “Hmmm, I thought so. Would you like me to spank it to a nice rosy glow? Till you're squirmin and pantin, beggin me to stop and keep goin all in one breath.”  


“Yes.”  


He leans closer, his nose rubbing against hers light as a feather, but he pulls away every time her lips search for his. “I bet once I did I’d be able to slide my fingers down between those red, raw cheeks and find that pretty cunt of yours all swollen and dripping wet, wouldn't I?”  


Dany's answer is only a strangled noise of agreement. Her eyes have squeezed shut, the vision he’s painting with his words dancing behind her eyelids, her eager cunt aching to have the picture come to life.  


“Your cunt would be so wet I bet I could easily slide two or three fingers inside you. How long do you think it’d take for you to cum on my fingers Dany if I was spankin that beautiful arse while I fooked you with them?” He hums, the rough and gravely sound rolling through her, making her hips rise. His lips are at her ear now, his warm breath blowing against her skin. “Is that what you want, Dany?”  


She arches up into him, breathless. “Yes.” Such a soft simple word for such a ravenous feeling.  


“No.”  


His short, sharp denial causes her eyes to fly open only to find his own, sly and twinkling down at her, a wolfish grin tugging at his lips as he hovers above her.  


Her fire flames to life in a completely different way. “Jon Snow! You did not just… Arrrrrrrgh, you evil man! I hate you!” she shrieks, slapping at his chest.  


Jon sits up, his head thrown back as he roars with laughter. “No you don't. You love me.”  


“I do, damn you to all seven hells,” she grumbles, shoving him nearly off the bed before crossing her arms over her chest in defiance.  


Still laughing, Jon picks up her sticky, discarded orange from the furs and holds it out to her. “Admit it, you deserved that.”  


Dany snatches it out of his hand and rips off a wedge, cramming it into her mouth. “I will do no such thing,” she mumbles around it. “What you did was just cruel. I was only thinking of your feelings.”  


He considers her for a moment then reaches over and pulls her into his lap, curling himself around her. “I’m sorry.” He presses his lips to the top of her head. “I shouldn't have teased you so. I used to be able to control myself better, control my fears, keep my anger in, but ever since I came back…”  


The low, distant tone of his voice pulls Dany away, only far enough she can see him. She cups a hand around his neck, rubbing her thumb against the edge of his beard. It gives him the encouragement he needs.  


“I've been different since then, and now there's _you_.” One of his hands slides over her stomach. “And our little one.” He shakes his head, closing his eyes as he lets out a trembling breath. “I'm so afraid none of us will survive, but my biggest fear, the one that terrifies me, is that only one of us will.”  


His expression is serious, but also how it always is when focused on her, softened at the edges, his pupils blown wide as a northern night sky. And his words have caught on her heartstrings, pulling and tugging them, filling her chest with a ruinous, liquid ache that spreads under her skin like a poison.  


“I'm scared too,” she whispers, weak and splintered, arms clutching him to her.  


His head comes to rest against hers. “I know, love.”  


\---  


As planned, the pair met Sam at Gendry's forge an hour later. Ten drops of Dany's precious blood was added to each melting pot as she read a verse of High Valyrian Sam had found with the recipe. The molten steel hissed and smoked, seeming to come alive, swirling within the pots with no help from Gendry, turning from a glowing red to a deep purple, almost blue.  


While the other smiths would concentrate on forging swords, Gendry vowed to spend night and day crafting armor for his king and queen and their dragons. He measured them both, then provided a long length of knotted rope they could measure Drogon and Rhaegal with. He thought it best to stay with his forge much to their amusement. Arya though was more than happy to help, writing down the measurements as they called them out to her.  


The sun was setting as they finished and after most of the castle had gone quiet they shut themselves away with the two men they hoped could help them find the key they so desperately needed to save them all.  


Bran sat in front of the fire, Sam on his bed, and Jon and Dany, sat at his table. All knowing what they were there for and the hour late, Jon wasted no time.  


“Bran, Sam’s told me you’ve seen him the most,” he starts. “We need to put our knowledge together and figure out a way to end him. It won’t matter what else we do if we can’t kill him. _He’s_ the answer. End him and we end them all. If we can't, we die.”  


His brother's eyes don't leave the fire. “I saw them make him, the Children of the Forest.”  


“They made him?” Dany sputters. “Why would they do that?”  


“The First Men were destroying their lands. They needed an army,” Bran explains. “Old Nan told us he was a Stark. Do you remember, Jon?” Jon pulls a face, shaking his head, to loosen a memory, or to deny. Bran doesn't notice either way. “They tied him to a tree and embedded a shard of dragonglass into his heart. They created The Song of Ice. But the magic became too strong, they couldn't control it so they turned to the First Men for help.”  


“They defeated them together,” Jon says.  


Bran and Sam look up, surprised at the surety of Jon’s words.  


“He found drawings in the caves at Dragonstone,” Dany tells them. “I may never have believed his tales had I not seen them.”  


“They didn’t defeat them though, they only _contained_ them, _banished_ them to the Land of Always Winter,” Bran says, his emotionless tone sounding more ominous than usual. “The two of you will defeat them. Together you are The Song of Ice and Fire. The magic we need.”  


Jon sighs, shaking his head again as he shifts in his seat, making it creak and groan. “Bran, I don't have any magic. Her yes, me, no.”  


“You do,” his brother argues. “It's in your blood. Ice from your mother, fire from your father. The ice is less now since the Lord of Light brought you back, but it's still there.”  


All three stare at him expectantly, waiting for him to agree. He drops his eyes to his lap, a nervous hand rubbing at his beard. “I don't... I feel...nothing.”  


“Yes you do. You’ve felt it for years with Ghost, and now Rhaegal,” Bran argues again. “They feel you, just as you do them. And Daenerys. Have you ever been drawn to another person the way you are her?” he asks.  


Jon huffs, sitting back in his chair now, crossing his arms over his chest. “I love her, of course I'm drawn to her.”  


“You were drawn to her before you fell in love. You loved the Wildling girl, but it wasn't the same, was it?” Bran challenges. “It's more than love, it's the magic you both carry. It brought you together.”  


“Together,” Dany repeats, taking Jon’s hand and squeezing it, her violet gaze begging him not to forget their pact.  


He relaxes, lacing his fingers with hers, a small smile easing the worry from his face.  


“Don't you see, Jon?” Bran presses on. “The paths you’ve both led from your births, they were always meant to bring you here. You had to grow up a bastard so you would find your place at The Wall and find the threat to us all. She had to be exiled to birth her dragons and build her armies to fight that threat.”  


“Alright. I know. I do,” Jon admits, rubbing his face. “But none of that tells us _how_ to kill him.” He stares them all down, one at a time, his vexation plain.  


Sam clears his throat, drawing their attention. He looks to Jon warily. “You’ve heard of the prophecy about Azor Ahai?”  


Jon’s sigh is harsh. He drops his head into his hand, fingers and thumb kneading his temples. “Aye. The prince or princess who was promised.”  


“Reborn again to remake the world,” Bran murmurs.  


“Yes,” Sam chuckles nervously, rocking in place. “According to prophecy, the champion will be reborn to wake dragons from stone.”  


Never having heard the actual wording, Jon straightens in surprise, looking at his wife, then Sam. “That's Dany.”  


“Yes,” Bran agrees, once again staring into the fire.  


Dany lets go of Jon and slides to the edge of her chair, resting her arms on the tabletop, hands clasped. “Read the rest, please, Samwell.”  


Sam takes the book from beside him and holds it up close to his face. “The great sword Lightbringer that defeated the darkness those thousands of years ago will be reforged. There will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and–”  


“There was a comet,” Dany gasps, cutting him off and turning to look at Jon over her shoulder. “The night Drogo died. As soon as I saw it I knew.”  


“Knew what?” Jon asks, not entirely sure he wants to know. He doesn't really want them to be this prince or princess.  


“That it was time to birth my dragons.”  


Awe and dread wash through Jon in equal measure at her quiet, fateful words. He swallows thickly, then nods for Sam to continue.  


“When the stars bleed and cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him."  


Jon’s up and out of his chair before Sam’s said the last word, pacing about the small room, hands fisted together one moment then rubbing the tension free from his palms the next. “I’ve only ever seen one sword that burns and it wasn't Longclaw. It was Beric Dondarrion’s and the Night King didn't flee from him, neither did his army. I don't even know that Beric still lives. We left him at Eastwatch.”  


“What if we can make Longclaw burn?” Sam suggests.  


Jon’s eyes leave the floor and look to Sam, his face twisted with skepticism. “How?”  


Sam shrinks a bit under his scrutiny. “Well, you're not gonna like it, but it might work and it wouldn't be as drastic as what had to be done it make Lightbringer.”  


“What had to be done?” Dany asks.  


Sam suddenly finds the furs he’s sitting on very interesting. “Azor Ahai had to plunge it into his wife's heart,” he mumbles, barely loud enough to be heard.  


Jon, however caught every word. “If you're fookin suggesting I do the same,” he seethes.  


“No, listen!” Sam pleads, shaking his head vigorously. “I said _not_ as drastic. I know you’d never and I wouldn't want you to. None of us would. But she's already given blood for forging.”  


A deep growl rumbles from Jon’s chest as he stares Sam down, teeth clenched. “Aye, I won't be forgettin how much anytime soon.”  


“I’m sure you won't,” Sam bites back, causing Dany to smirk. “Still. What if we reforge Longclaw and add her blood?”  


Running his hands over his hair, Jon forces his anger into its cage. Sam doesn't deserve it, he’s only trying to help. “What is it you think that'll do?” he asks, his tone collected now.  


“Make a new Lightbringer,” Dany guesses.  


Sam nods, his cheeks jiggling and pink as he smiles at her, then Jon.  


“You’ll need to forge it,” his brother says from behind him.  


“Bran, I’m not a smith,” Jon shoots back over his shoulder, then shifts to face him. “And we don't have time for me to learn either.”  


“We do,” he tells him, “He’s not coming here.”  


Jon startles at that, hope filling him. “What? You’ve seen him again?”  


“Where’s he going?” Dany asks over him.  


“The Isle of Faces in the God's Eye,” Bran says. The words have barely left his lips when his eyes suddenly roll to white. Jon and Dany glance at Sam warily.  


“He's usually not gone long. Best to just wait,” Sam assures them.  


Several minutes pass before Bran comes back to himself and without any explanation he sets his eyes on the door. “Sam, would you allow our guests in, please?”  


Sam quickly shuffles to his feet and then to the door, opening it as requested. A hooded figure and a young woman with dark eyes and curls, dressed in furs stand waiting just outside.  


Not recognizing either and quite unsettled by their sudden appearance, at night and without a guard, Jon’s hand grips the hilt of Longclaw as he walks towards them, blocking Dany from their view.  


The pair enter the room, undeterred by Jon's defensive posture, the girl shutting the door behind them.  


“Meera. You came back,” Bran says, his voice holding the most emotion Jon has heard from him since returning home.  


It eases Jon's nerves a bit. He stops, waiting for one of them to say more.  


The girl nods to Bran, pain flashing across her face, then she turns to Jon, the hooded figure with her as well. Both are of the same height, no taller than Dany, and appear slender even with their bulky clothes. Jon isn't sure if the girl's companion is a man or woman.

Slowly, hands peel back the hood revealing a man, perhaps twice Jon's age, maybe more, maybe less, with pale, almost grey skin, and a set of sunken dark green eyes. His scraggly hair and beard remind Jon of the color of dead leaves that litter a forest floor.  


“My father, your Graces. Howland Reed,” Meera introduces him.  


_His father's friend? That Howland Reed?_  


“Your Graces,” Lord Reed says, his tone reverent, as he and Meera both drop to a knee in front of Jon, their heads bowed.  


Jon tries to stop them, waving his hands. “Please, that's not–”

"To the rightful King and Queen we pledge the faith of Greywater Watch. Hearth and harvest we yield up to you, your Graces. Our swords and spears and arrows are yours to command. Grant mercy to our weak, help to our helpless, and justice to all, and we shall never fail you. We swear it by earth and water. We swear it by bronze and iron. We swear it by ice and fire."  


Their oath sworn, the pair rise.  


Jon is speechless, not only by the oath, but their presence at all. Dany now stands beside him, questioning him with her wide eyes. Sam looks just as confused. Bran though, actually has a small smile on his face.  


Before Jon can think of a response, Lord Reed steps forward. “Forgive us, your Grace,” he asks Jon. “I can see your concern at our unexpected and unannounced visit. If you'll allow us to explain you’ll soon understand the need for secrecy.”  


“Ah...of course. Well met, my lord, my lady. Please, have a seat,” Jon manages to get out, somewhat gracefully, while waving towards the table.  


They wait for Dany to sit and for Jon too as he pours them both a cup of wine. They gratefully accept and drink eagerly, while Sam moves Bran closer, then takes a seat himself at Jon's nod. His needs the comfort of his friend to his help his frayed nerves.  


Emptying his cup, Howland wipes a hand over his mouth and beard, then sets his pitchy gaze on Jon, a wide smile lightening his haggard face. “You look so much like her. She would've been proud of that. Proud of the man you’ve become.”  


“My mother? You knew her?” Jon sputters, eyes wide.  


“I did. Met her and your uncles at the Tourney of Harrenhal. Surely Ned or Benjen told you the story.”  


Jon shakes his head. “They never spoke of her.”  


“Ah, well. I suppose I understand why,” Howland sighs. His gaze drifts, seeing things far gone, until Meera lays a hand over his arm. He smiles softly at her then turns to Jon again. “What do you know?”  


“Very little. Only that Bran says he saw her after my birth begging Ned to protect me and that her and Rhaegar were married and seemed to love one another.”  


Howland gives a sharp nod. “All true. I was there, for both.”  


Jon can only stare. It's not that he didn't believe Bran, or even Dany and their connection, but hearing it from someone else... Dany's hand slips over his thigh under the table. He grasps it tightly with his own.  


“I'm the reason they met,” Howland continues. “It was my duty to bring them together so you could be born.”  


Jon flinches back, head tilted and brows twisted in confusion. “Your _duty?_ I don't understand.”  


Lord Reed leans closer, pressing himself into the table, his erie green gaze focused on Jon. “You're going to save us all, your Grace. You and your wife.”

_How does he know–_  


“I know many things,” he murmurs, answering Jon’s question before he's even finished thinking it. “It's why I haven't left Greywater Watch for over two decades. It was too much of a risk.”  


“And now it's not?” Dany asks.  


“It still is, but it was time for us to meet, for me to tell you all I can. For you to know,” Howland tells her, his pointed finger waving between them.  


Jon and Dany share an anxious glance then look back at their strange guest. “Know what?” they ask together.  


“Everything.”  



	14. Oh, but she burns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More from Howland, some much needed stress relief before bed, and a trip to the Isle of Faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am soooooo sorry this took me so long to get to you! The flu struck just after I posted the last chapter and I'm still sick a month later. I have a chronic illness so anytime I get regular sick on top of that it nearly does me in. And this chapter is pivotal to the story and I really wanted to do it justice. I'm still not sure I have, but I always feel I could do more no matter what I do, it's the perfectionist in me I suppose. I truly hope you all enjoy it. Please, please, please let me know what you think!! Comments are like candy to us writers, we love hearing from you!!
> 
> A HUGE thank you to Ashleyfanfic and Sparkles59. You wouldn't be getting this chapter without them. They both beta-ed for me and also helped me whip the plot and emotions into shape. I love you tarts!! Frost, Meisie, Jaq, and AC certainly did their part too, keeping me encouraged and laughing! I honestly don't know how I made it before you ladies fell into my life. <3<3<3 Love you all!!
> 
>  
> 
> And last but not least, CHECK OUT THAT GORGEOUS MOOD BOARD Ashleyfanfic made for me!!! Loves it and her!!!

“Everything.”

A foreboding and unpleasant heavy sensation sits in Jon's heart at Howland's single solemn utterance. Others have told him destiny was coming for him, now here it is, sat across from him. He knows there's no denying it anymore and it feels as if his soul is wavering, shaking like some wind-swept leaf. He wants to run, he never wanted this. It's like some sick, twisted game; give him everything he could have ever hope to want then force him to fight for his life, and the lives of every living being if he wants to keep it. _Did the gods or whoever decided this just expect him to give in with no questions, no qualms?_

“Please, my lord,” Dany encourages, no doubt sensing his unease through his sweaty, shaking hand. “Any help will be most appreciated.”

Howland smiles at her, seeming to have finally noticed her presence. “You are your brother's sister, your Grace, though more beautiful, and, if you’ll forgive me, wiser.”

That sits Dany back, slow and solemn, though she keeps her polite smile in place. “Thank you.”

“You said it was your duty,” Jon cuts in, too impatient for idle words. “Was it you who charged yourself with the task or someone else?” 

“It was not me,” Howland tells him, fingertips tapping on the tabletop. “I'm sure you know our people are different than all the others in Westeros. We keep to ourselves, live on what the land gives us. Know things others do not. We’ve always lived that way, from the beginning. From the time of the Children and First Men. We are not from one or the other, but both.”

“So it is true,” Sam pipes up from the end of the table, eyes wide, mouth turned up into an excited smile. “You’ve the blood of the Children running through your veins.”

Howland nods, returning his smile. “Aye, we do.And not just their blood, but their magic too. Even as a young boy I knew I was different, just as my son Jojen was, and your brother,” he says, eyes now on Jon as he tilts his head towards Bran. “They had their green dreams, I could speak to the trees, hear them speak back. The winter before Harrenhall they called me to the Isle of Faces.”

“Who did?” Jon asks, nearly snapping at the man. Dany rubs his hand between hers, kneading at his tense joints and bones. He squeezes her fingers, eyes downcast, shamed at his own behavior and envious of her ability to remain so calm and unruffled.

Not bothered by Jon’s harsh tone, Howland shrugs. “The trees, the Children, the Green Men… I wasn't sure who it was, only that I needed to go. So I did. I don't know how long I was there. Some say the whole winter. At times it feels it was only a day, others an age.”

He drifts again, lost in the past. “What did they want with you?” Dany asks, bringing him back to the present. 

“They chose me to help them right the wrongs that were set in motion thousands of years ago.” He gives them all a moment to digest that bit, running a hand over his scraggly beard, before shaking a finger at them. “The maesters may try to teach that there was never magic in the world, or that it is long gone. Their words are false. It has always been. Her and her dragons are proof of it, the others too, and you, Jaegon Targaryen.” 

Another cold wind shakes Jon to his core. Hopefully none but Dany notice the gooseflesh it left across his skin. 

Howland continues, oblivious to Jon’s distress, or dismissing it. “The Night King and his army are the Children's Song of Ice, their ice magic. Created to prevent the First Men from destroying their lands. When it grew too strong the first long night came to Westeros. Once The Wall was built, Valyria rose to power not long after. Their Song of Fire grew great and mighty, but it too became too strong and had to be banished. The others have been stirring ever since, their power growing again. The Children and the Men knew something had to be done and that's when they called me. Ice and Fire had to be brought together.”

Daenerys’ fingers tighten their grip on Jon's, they exchange a concerned glance.

“They told me of a dragon and a wolf who together would create the same. They only need set eyes on one another. That was my duty,” Howland says, answering Jon's question at last. “The day the tourney began I was there. Through very little work of my own I met your mother. Fierce she was, but with a tender heart. She saved me from the beating I was receiving from three squires I had put myself in the way of. After running them off with their tails tucked, she took me to your uncles, cleaned me up, and took care of my wounds. From that moment forward the bond between Houses Stark and Reed grew unbreakable.

“They tried to talk me into riding against the squires in the tourney. I declined, not only because I would never have won, but because I knew she'd take my place. Her fierce heart would demand it. I helped her piece together some armor, enough to protect and hide her. Benjen helped too.” Howland laughs, shaking his head. “He could never tell her no. None of us could. She inspired loyalty like a sponge draws water.”

“Jon’s like that,” Sam chuckles, smile wide and proud.

Rolling bitter eyes, his friend huffs. “Aye, my men were so loyal they stabbed me to death.”

Dany winces, not only at Jon's acrid words, but at Sam's crestfallen face as well, but like the sun he rises again. “Well, maybe not the bad seeds, but if there's any goodness in them, they flock to you.”

“He’s not wrong,” Dany whispers, turning to Jon and ignoring propriety, a soft hand running over his scruffy jaw. He captures it with his own, pressing a kiss to her palm, letting everything else disappear for a moment. 

“Your mother rode, and she won,” Howland says, breaking through their short reprieve. 

The smile that pulls at Jon’s lips is conflicted, sad. Lonely. “The Knight of the Laughing Tree and Rhaegar's Queen of Love and Beauty.”

“Aye. That she was.”

“Tell us he wasn't a selfish bastard.”

With a shake of his head, Howland sighs. “Not so much selfish, as….” He rubs his brow,shaking his head again. “Your father had goodness in him, you need to know that, but he was different, detached. He was lost in his books and scrolls, obsessed with the prophecy to the point he let his responsibilities fall to the side. He believed he was doing the right thing, he truly did, and that blinded him to all the rest.”

“And Elia, the children. Why?” Dany asks, voicing what Jon can't.

Another sigh leaves Howland, this one heavier. “After the tourney Elia begged him to let her and their children go. She wanted to go home to Dorne. She knew what their fate would be with his eyes elsewhere, and Areys.... She tried to keep it from happening, but he left her on Dragonstone, dismissing her fears, assured the three of them would be safe there. After finding your mother again, he knew he'd never go back to Elia and the children. He truly loved Lyanna and needed any of her future children to be true born. So he granted Elia’s wish.” He wipes a hand down his grizzled face. “He was too late. Aerys had already ordered them back to King’s Landing, his madness coming to its peak. You know the rest.”

Jon’s on his feet again, pacing the room as its walls seem to grow smaller and smaller, trapping him in, and all his riotous emotions with him. Dany sits, tiny and alone, eyes unseeing, fingers clasped, knuckles white.

“Please, don't let his decisions cast a shadow over you,” Howland pleads. “Neither of you are him. Though I believe what goodness he did have, he passed to you, Jon. And there is much of your mothers in both of you too.”

“My mother destroyed a marriage,” Jon bites back, fists balled at his side, eyes burning coal.”Then all seven Kingdoms, at _his_ urging.” The wound the truth flayed him open with still fresh, raw, and oozing.

_Has it really only been days? It feels a lifetime._

“She was young and headstrong, being forced to marry a sorry excuse of a man,” Howland tries to soothe him. “You wouldn't be here, Jon, without their choices. And you had to be here, in exactly the way it happened.” 

Closing his eyes, Jon breathes deep, forcing down the bitterness. He cannot change the past, only their future. Eyes now focused on that future, he makes his way back to her side, waving a hand at their guest. “Continue, please.”

“There’s not much left to tell that you don’t already know. Your parents married then went to Dorne, leaving the rest of us to Aerys and Robert’s madness. I went to your uncle's side and stayed there until the day he left me in the Neck and continued onto Winterfell with you in his arms.”

“Did he know? My father...Ned. Before he found her? Did you tell him?”

Dany passes Sam Jon’s cup, who quickly fills it with more wine and hands it back. Jon doesn't miss the exchange, despite keeping his eyes on Howland, waiting for an answer as Dany sits the cup in front of him.

“No. That was not my place.”

The chair beneath Jon groans as if in pain, seeming to absorb its occupant’s anger, unable to keep his secret. “You let him think the entire time she’d been kidnapped?”

Howland’s grey and boney hand rises weakly, a flash of vexation ghosting across his weathered face, then gone again as quickly as it appeared. “He never thought that. He knew his sister well enough to know she’d never go anywhere she didn't want. They all knew it, even Brandon I imagine, though he was too hot headed to allow her honor to be smudged without a fight,” he defends himself. 

Jon deflates a bit, sinking back into his chair before grabbing his cup and draining it. 

Howland waits until the wine cools the embers in the young king’s eyes before continuing. “Robert is another story. His unwieldy pride couldn't take the scorn. He lied to add fuel to the fires, to cover his hubris. Ned was too busy fighting in revenge for your grandfather and uncle's murders to deny it until it was already set to stone in so many minds. Once we found her, he knew Robert's lie had to become his own and then some.”

“You didn't try to save any of them?” 

“The only time I was allowed to interfere was to save Ned at the Tower of Joy. You needed him. But I assure you, it was like taking a knife to my own heart not to save her,” he admits, brittle and bent like a bow. “And Rhaegar too. But their fates were out of my hands. Their absence made you the man you are today. You were wanted and loved. I know that isn't much consolation, but it is the truth.” 

Jon sits shapeless as a sack of wool, the life faded from his eyes, leaving them cold as a winter sky after the sunset. His weariness is dragging upon his spirits like leaden weights. Silent and still beside him, Dany worries if she moves or touches him he will drop to the floor like a broken branch.

“I need to take you to the Isle of Faces.” Howland’s soft croaking accent startles the pair.”They're waiting for you, have been for sometime.”

“What else do they want from us?” Dany asks, voice crisp and cold, belying her distress.

“To give you all you need to defeat death.”

Dark eyebrows arch over murky violet orbs. “And you know what that is?”

He shakes his head. “No, but we must leave tonight.”

Jon is having none of it, up and out of his chair again. “No. We’re needed here. We can't leave these people to fight on their own.” 

“With her big black dragon we’ll be back well before any fighting takes place.”

Fists braced on the table, Jon leans towards his father's old friend. Like a blood stain on linen his distrust still clings. “You expect us just to leave with you? Trust you? _Everything_ , I believe is what you said. You’ve not kept your word.”

Again, Howland does not baulk under the king's displeasure. “I'm meant to get you there and come back with you. What happens in between isn’t for me. Only the two of you. I’ve told you everything _I_ know.”

“You’re certain we'll come back?” Dany asks. Jon cuts her a look, chafe and stinging. She presses on. “You swear no harm will come to the our people while we're gone? And none will come to us either?”

“I swear it, your Grace.”

“You must take me with you.” Bran’s request startles them, all eyes turning his way, questions caught in their throats.

Jon’s the only one to find his voice. “What? With us? Why?”

“The Three-eyed Raven that came before me, he lived with the Children in a weirwood beyond The Wall. My powers will be stronger on the Isle. The Green Men and the Children will protect me. The trees will strengthen me. I'm not helping you enough here.”

“You cannot help us if you're so far away,” Jon argues.

“I’ll be able to see better, maybe warg into the dead, or even the dragon.”

Sharp talons ripping at his face flash into Jon's memory. _If an eagle can be wielded as a weapon of the mind, what damage could an ice dragon be ordered to do?_

“You really think you could do that?” he asks, hating himself for the twinge of hope he feels that could only come at his brother's expense. 

“If I were stronger, possibly.”

“Would it hurt you? If you could do it, would you be safe?”

Bran shrugs, his face a blank canvas. “If it brings the Night King's end, what does my pain matter?”

Jon is halfway to him before he even realizes he’s moved. “Bran. I’ll not sacrifice you–”

“My path is my own Jon, just as yours is. Paths we must follow to the end.”

His brother's words hit him like an icy wave, swift and tragic, shifting Jon nearly off his feet. The whole truth, naked, cold, and fatal as a traitor's blade sinks into his bones. _There's no escaping it anymore, no more denying. The only way out is to see it through._

“I should be able to keep him in touch with you through the tree in your godswood,” Howland offers a small bit of solace. “And Meera can stay with him. She could send ravens if needed.”

“You would be alright with that, Meera?” Dany asks her, never one to allow a man to make a woman's choice for her, father or no.

Wide forest eyes meet Dany’s in appreciation before turning to Bran’s. The two stare at one another, past memories seeming to hang like a fog between them, thick and heavy. But soon it lifts, silent apologies and forgiveness given. 

Meera faces her queen again and nods. “I swore an oath. My place is with Bran.” 

Jon leans an arm against the mantel, staring into the fire. His sigh of resignation runs through all of them the weight of it is so great. “If you're sure there’s no other way, Bran, but we're not leaving tonight. Dawn is soon enough. Daenerys needs a few hours rest at least.”

“Jon, I’m fine,” she protests, gently.

He turns to her, a king, not a husband. “We're going to keep it that way. Your body is growing another. Sam said you needed as much rest as possible, I mean for you to get it. If we're the promised ones then the rest of the world can fookin wait on us. It's waited twenty three years, it can wait a few fookin hours more.”

“He’s right, yer Grace,” Sam agrees, smiling in hopes of easing the bristle of Jon’s demand. “You’ve been up all day, rest a bit.”

Dany nods, helpless against the pleading only she can see in her husband's eyes. She'll bend so he doesn't break.

 

\---

 

They undress, both silent, lost in their thoughts. Once Jon has the fire stoked and a few more logs added he wanders over and helps her finish undoing her braids. It's quickly becoming one of Dany's favorite times with him. 

Drogo, nor Daario would have bothered themselves with helping her, the task beneath them. But not Jon. He cherishes every moment he has with her, would rather take care of her himself just to be closer. To be with her in sweet, quiet, sacred, seclusion.

He loosens the last braid then slides his fingers into her hair, rubbing away the achiness from her scalp, making her moan. Her head falls back against his firm stomach, eyes closed.

“No sleeping just yet,” he murmurs, straightening her up, then fashioning her hair into one, long loose braid for sleeping.

Dany stands as soon as he's done, walking into his arms, her own wrapping around his trim waist, as he hugs her back. “I love you, Jon,” she whispers, placing a few kisses across his chest, letting the last linger over the top edge of his scar.

His calloused hands run up and down her back, before taking her face between them. He presses his lips to her forehead. “And I, you, my love.” 

Once they're tucked under the furs, Jon pulls their bodies flush against each other, back to chest, his arm over her waist, her full breast resting in his palm, then nuzzles into the nape of her neck with a sigh.

“Are you alright, my love?” she asks, covering his hand with hers and lacing their fingers together. 

“Aye, I think so,” he whispers, his warm lips kissing the sensitive skin beneath her ear. “I needed you here, safe a little longer. Just us and the quiet for a bit.”

“And the rest?” she asks, soft and careful.

He doesn't answer straight away, breathing deep, letting to out slowly. Reluctant. “I'll do whatever it takes to save us, and the world with us, prophecy or no.” 

_The world._

Her world has narrowed considerably these last months. What she once wanted, faded and trival. Now it consists of only three small letters. Of eyes so deep and dark, so assailing there's no hope, nor want of escape. Of a precious heart that was cruelly stopped, but blessedly beats again. She will keep her world safe, and the tiny life he helped her create, as they risk everything for everyone else. 

He kisses her neck again, once, then twice more. “We’ll get our answers in the morning. Rest now, love.”

Knowing he’s been pushed far enough, Dany slips her hand between them, intent on settling his nerves another way. She easily finds her prize, warm and half aroused. “Not yet.”

“You need to sleep,” he rasps, hips tucking tighter against her, hand squeezing her breast, his body in complete opposition to his words. 

“We sleep better once we’ve had each other, you know that,” she argues, grasping him in hand and placing him between her thighs. 

Neither can help their bodies response then, his hardening length, her slick cunt causing both to rock their hips against the other. 

“Gods Dany, you're so wet,” he breathes into her ear, fingers plucking a tender nipple as he slides through her swollen lips. “How long has that greedy cunt been achin?”

“You know very well how long.”

His grunt holds an edge of laughter, hips surging forward, teeth biting into her neck. “Maybe I should threaten to spank you more often,” he muses, now kissing at her bruised skin.

“Maybe you should do more than threaten,” she challenges, reaching down between her thighs and pressing his cock tighter against her cunt, grinding her aching clit over him, desperate for more friction. 

Her answer and actions too much for him, Jon grabs her by the wrist, pinning it down beside her head as he rolls them over, his delicious weight covering her from head to toe, trapping her between him and the bed. His cock, now rigid and weeping probes at her entrance, splitting her open in two pumps of his hips, driving in to the hilt.

Dany cries out at the sudden invasion, gripping his fingers tightly in hers, the others tangled in raven curls. She should be scared, at the very least uncomfortable. In all their hours together she's managed to keep them face to face until now. Memories should be swirling in her mind, making fear flood her veins, but none of those things are happening. Instead her cry was one of pure pleasure. She knows she's safe here with him. He would never force her and would take a knife to his own heart before hurting her. And gods! He’s never felt better buried within her.

Whether it's her raging need for him, the new position, or the precipice their lives hang from, he seems to be hitting every hidden vulnerable spot she has, building her to an intense and insatiable hunger quicker than ever before.

Jon seems just as affected, his grip on her like steel bars, hands and arms caging her in, his grunting breath heavy against her neck, curls tickling her cheek, the course hairs of his beard scraping her raw. “Fook. So tight,” he pants, forcing her further into the bed with each slow rut of his hips. 

She pushes back against him, lifting her arse as much as his weight allows, to bring him deeper, clasping and pulling at his cock with her quaking walls. His thrusts grow quicker, groans louder. It's her only recourse, being held down and so thoroughly taken, completely at his mercy. It's only fair he should feel as unmoored as she does. 

Much faster than she wants, the sensations begin to consume her. The smooth hard glide of his cock, nearly leaving her, only to split her open again despite the desperate clench to keep him seated and still. The delicious, tingling burn spreading from her center through her arse cheeks and thighs as his hot skin slaps against them, over and over. Not the spanking she craves, but close. The rough hair of his thighs, the sculpted muscles of his torso writhing over her back, his breathy moans and pants filling her ears.

It's all too much and not enough, wrenching sounds from her she's never heard, never knew she was capable of making, as she shudders and shivers, her body no longer her own.

His heat and weight lift away, breath hitching. “You alright?”

Panicked his worry will end this, she rips a hand free and slaps it against his arse, urging him forward with a handful of flesh gripped fiercely, nails no doubt leaving deep, pink crescents in his pale skin. “Don't stop, Jon. Please don't stop.”

He drives forward, ripping another cry from her throat when he bottoms out against her womb. His angle changes, low and pressing, each outward stroke torturing bliss, each inward, divine torment. The pace he keeps has her hovering like a flake of snow or fluttering leaf in a soft wind. It's maddening and euphoric, to be held a over the cliff's edge, xhilaration and fear swirling to terrible heights, threatening to burst through every pore and leave one in tatters. It's a secret sweeter than any sea or sky could whisper and she never wants it to end. 

Then his arm is under her, lifting her up, face grasped in his hand, gentle, yet firm, as he twists her around for a reckless kiss. “Touch yourself. I want ya to feel how wet you are.” His demand is no more than a feral growl against her mouth, making her every nerve quiver and shake. 

She mewls, high-pitched and keening, knowing they'll both be flung into the abyss as soon as she does his bidding, yet unable to refuse him. Slowly, as if her hand was made of lead, she reaches beneath her. The mess she finds is nearly obscene; her fingers slipping across her slick skin so easily they go too far, splitting around his girth. She gasps. He groans. Then she’s pressing against herself, and him, feeling each thrust and drag of his hard length push and pull at her, experiencing him stretch her in a whole new way. It's all so indecent and lewd, and it couldn't thrill her more.

“Dany,” he gasps, tension and strain dripping thick as honey from his tone and pouring into her ear, the slap of his hips against her arse erratic now. He’s close, desperate for her to fall first.

Her fingers follow his silent command finding her swollen nub, rubbing it in hard, quick circles. That familiar, but ever wanted flame licks high and bright through the center of her until she shatters like so much glass, her wail muffled by the mattress and pillows she buries her face in. His yell is nearly a howl, given free and loud and unrestrained for all and sundry to hear as he empties his seed into her in three rough jerks of his hips.

The fall back to earth then, delightfully wrecked and utterly spent.

“Seven fookin hells. What was that?” he pants, boneless and fallen at her side, covered in a sheen of sweat.

“A dragon taming a wolf?” she giggles, her high not quite burned away.

“A dragon wolf taming a dragon I think you mean.” He laughs, then lands a stinging slap against her arse. “Go to sleep my wicked wife.”

She does sometime later, knowing her job is complete as she watches his eyes flutter closed, the slow rise and fall of his chest, and brow smooth and unworried just as it should be.

 

\---

 

In the dark winter dawn, the five of them made their way outside the safety of Winterfell's walls and climbed upon Drogon's back. They left Sam behind, along with a letter to explain their absence to their advisors, and a perturbed and pouty Rhaegal. 

It took both Jon and Dany to appease him. His mother to soothe his worries, and Jon to assure him he was needed, tasking him with the protection of their people. As they flew off, Jon was pleased to see his giant green friend, melting the snow and ice from the trenches just as they had the last several mornings. 

He leans forward, placing his lips near Dany’s ear. “You're sure he'll behave while we're gone?” 

She puts a hand over Jon’s where it rests against her stomach, squeezing. He kisses her hair, taking her hand and putting it back around Drogon's spike. “Don't let go.” 

Dany smiles softly, kisses his cheek, then turns back to focus on Drogon.

They fly for hours, seeing virtually nothing but snow covered land, smatterings of trees, and black rivers cutting through both. Staying just east of the King’s road and high into the grey mist keeps them mostly hidden from any eyes that may be daring the freezing morning. Winter has reached its icy hand far below the North now. Drogon's heat beneath them is surely the only thing keeping the five of them from freezing. Jon lost feeling in his face before they’d made it past Castle Cerwyn. Dany’s body heat is the only reason he can still feel his fingers. 

But he forgets the frigid cold as the ominous, charred and melted ruins of Harrenhall come into view ahead of them, the Gods Eye, a still and murky expanse laying just beyond. Instead of continuing their course, Drogon suddenly banks right, circling the blacken rubble of the once enormous castle. 

Dread fills Jon, thoughts of Winterfell and Viserion forcing the intolerable to swim about his brain. He shakes the images free as he would a nightmare and manages to tear his eyes away from the disturbing sight only for them to come to rest on his stricken wife. As terrible a picture as the castle makes, it's nothing to seeing her wrestle with the truth it tells. Her skin has faded to an ashy green, face slack, eyes wide and watery. He could blame their babe, but he knows that's not it.

Desperate to free her from her own enforced nightmare he squeezes her close, pulling her attention away from the destruction. “We won't ever do something like this. We’ll be better.”

She closes her eyes, leaning back into him and draws in a deep breath. He whispers what he hopes is soothing nonsense in her ear until he feels the tension finally leave her. Drogon swings left then, taking them over the glassy waters of the Gods Eye, his mother back on course again.

A hand grabs at Jon's furs, shaking him, nearly making him jump out of his skin. “A stern gloom hangs in the air around the Isle, it pervades all who draw near. Tell her to keep going. It will lift for us,” Howland’s craggy voice reaches his ear on the ripping wind.

He’s not wrong. Just as Jon relays the message to Dany an icy, firm grip settles around him as if death has his heart in his grasp. Drogon shifts beneath them, faltering, agitated, letting out a trembling roar. Daenerys soothes him as best she can with a gentle hand and silent plea, urging him onward. 

There in the middle of the polished waters stands a tower of thick fog as large as the Red Keep. Jon waits for the oppressive strain to lift, shivering, stomach ripe with nausea. Dany is tense as a bow string against his front, Bran’s fingers digging into his ribs, arms like steal bands around him, both feeling the effects just as deeply as him apparently. 

Then it's gone, the gloom and fog, like a flash of lightning, leaving the air blessedly breathable, crisp and clean. The Isle of Faces lies below them, a green and red jewel laying on a bed of grey silk. 

They circle round, once, then again, searching for a place to land. The whole Isle is covered in trees, the ring of shore not nearly wide enough for a dragon, let alone one Drogon's size. They've no choice though. Dany picks a spot and urges him down. 

A quick shiver of wind from his wings ruffles the stillness of the water before turning it to white capped waves has he hovers to land on the too small scrap of open earth. 

Hurrying down from their perch as best they can, Howland and Meera helping Jon get Bran situated on his back, Dany keeps Drogon calm, then slips down herself. They brace against each other as he lifts back into the air, the beat of his wings fierce. 

Jon sees nothing but a seemingly impenetrable screen of foliage standing before them, dense and dark. Then a warm, sweet breeze creeps through the trees, little more than a whisper, brushing against his face and lifting his spirits. Howland doesn't tarry, or give them time to question, leading the way into the thick wood on a path the rest of them would never have found.

They’re quickly swallowed up by the forest, brush, and bramble. From one step to the next it's as if they moved from day to dusk, the light dimming to a moldy green. The sun only reaches them through small waving holes in the canopy high above giving the effect they've been submerged into murky pond water. Rich earthy scents invade Jon’s nose with decay and growth in equal measure. Everything around them, the timber, the bushes, the ground, are all embrowned and mossed with age, as if the earth is slowly devouring all that it touches. They’ve entered another world.

The trees are most shocking. There’s alder, ash, and oak, none of them small, reaching heights Jon never knew a tree could and their trunks would take half a dozen men, fingertip to fingertip, to span, maybe more. It leaves one feeling like an ant crawling amongst giants. He’s certain he's never been in a place so ancient. 

Not surprising is the life living within it. Bronze-green beetles tumble over stones, and rotten trunks, lying helpless on their backs, their desperate attempts to right themselves halting at the sight of humans. Ravens flutter and flap their wings above them, swooping from branch to branch, watching their progress with beady black eyes, all eerily silent. Glimpses of rusty fur can be caught if quick enough, the squirrels and deer hiding from curious visitors.

Drogon circles the woods above them, much like the ravens, blocking out what little light they have on each pass, his mother's caution keeping him close. 

Soon the green and brown begin to fade, being taken over by others. The weirwoods. Blood red and bone white, they bend together as though murmuring secrets. Their roots arched up like skeletal wasted hands reaching through the loamy earth. Faces stare out of each, watching their progress with sunken, bleeding eyes. Jon’s never seen more than one at a time, here there are dozens and dozens. 

He worries he shouldn't trust it, but cannot deny the sense of infinite peace that fills this place. Until Bran pats his chest, disturbing that fragile peace. “Set me down, Jon.” He’s more than a little reluctant to let his brother go, gripping his legs tighter. “Please,” Bran adds. 

Howland and Meera, again step in to help, easing Bran to the ground, then pulling him to rest against the trunk of the nearest weirwood. Jon watches as his little brother's eyes close, a slight smile tugging at his lips as he takes a deep breath. It expands his meager girth before shrinking him as it's expelled. He seems at rest, happy even, but Jon still isn't certain he can leave him behind, the thought abhorrent. 

Dany's hand runs up his back, offering her support much as he did for her over Harrenhall.

“I’ll be alright, Jon. You must go,” Bran urges, voice stronger than Jon’s heard it in days. “I promise to still be here when you return.”

It's the last bit of assurance Jon needs. He turns to Howland as he takes Dany’s hand in his. “Where are they?”

“Through there,” Howland says, pointing at a ring of weirwoods ahead of them. 

Jon takes a few steps forward, Dany following, before he stops, turning to her. “Are we really doing this?”

“Yes. Are you alright?” she asks, rubbing his hand between hers, her eyes, glimmering star-like in her pale face. 

He wants to kiss her, so he does, long and deep, letting himself get lost in her; her beautiful face held in his hands, fingers buried in her silky hair, her sweet lips and scorching tongue pulling at his soul, and all his nerves fade away just as he knew they would. Nothing strengthens him more than Dany. Reluctantly, he lets her go, resting his forehead against hers. “I am now,” he sighs, “Are you?”

She releases a shuddering breath, her soft hand stroking his face, as she hums. “Mmm, hmm.”

They walk into the small glade at the center of the weirwoods Howland directed them to, and are soon not alone. Only one comes forward to meet them, though they sense many others hidden from view.

Short and wiry, he’s dressed head to toe in rough, dark linen, most held in place by leather strapping. He's not green as their name suggests, there are no horns protruding from his head, nor leaves for hair as Old Nan had told in her stories. Though he isn't like any other man they have ever seen either. Skin colored like a bruise three days past, mottled a swarthy purple, green, and blue. Even with his odd coloring, he appears young at first glance, skin tight and full, no lines or wrinkles aging him. But you only need look in his eyes to see the ages he’s lived. Wide set and pale gold within narrow lids they hold a depth of wisdom unknown. 

“Thank you for coming. I am Elric,” he introduces himself, accent queer and thick. He holds out an arm to Jon. 

Accepting, Jon grips his forearm as warriors are want to do. Neither tarries, stepping back again to their respective places. Elric bows his head towards Daenerys, who graciously returns it. 

“We have many questions,” Jon starts, too anxious to be patient, but Elric raises a hand.

“A large part of you must have believed Howland, else you wouldn't be here.”

“Mayhaps, but we still need answers,” Jon bites back. “We’re not your puppets, no matter what you might think.”

Dany watches as their glances meet like crossed swords, bright and harsh. She shifts slightly, the tension palpable. This is not starting well.

“Why us? Who decided we were the ones to be burdened with this?” she asks, hoping to give Jon time to cool off and get an answer to one of their many questions.

“The gods decided.”

Jon tilts his head, his eyes darting around to the carved faces surrounding them. “The old gods?”

Elric spreads his hands. “ _All_ the gods. And you were chosen because there were no others whose hearts were true enough.” 

“What do you mean, _true enough_?” Dany asks.

“There is a goodness in both of you not found in many, but you also possess the ability to dole out death. You are kind, yet fierce. Giving when needed, ruthless when necessary. And most importantly, more than anything, you want to live. Alone, but especially together you are the balance the world needs. A balance we must have if we are to survive.”

_You want to live…_

If Jon knows nothing else, he knows that. He wants to live, with Dany at his side and their child, lying safe within her womb. Nothing else matters save that. 

He straightens, his presence having grown quiet and powerful in the wake of his acceptance. “What does he want? The Night King?”

“Death only hungers for one thing. More death.” 

Like the freezing winds beyond The Wall his words cut through their flesh straight to bone. The feeling like a blade sent swiftly and suredly home to its scabbard. They both knew, but hearing it is different.

_Death and doom and destiny. The story of their lives. Nothing should surprise them anymore._

“And you, all of you, believe we can defeat death,” Jon says, his words a statement, not a question. 

Elric smiles, his odd golden eyes glowing. “One day when you are both old and grey you will greet it as a friend, but this death you will defeat.”

“How?”

“With the dragons, and this.” From his back Elric unsheathes a sword, the pommel of which Jon has been eyeing since the moment he joined them.

He holds it out for both to see. The sharp steel gleams a deep grey. _Valyrian_. The length is shorter than Longclaw, but the blade is wider, tapered, curved, then tapering again to a lethal point. The hilt is clean and unadorned, the pommel though is fitted with a cluster of sparkling, ice-blue diamonds that seem to gather all the light surrounding them.

Jon reaches for it, a grim and shuddering fascination overcoming him, knowing without a doubt the fabled Lightbringer is being offered to him. But his heart jolts painfully, warning him away. Fist clenched, he pulls it back to his side. “I will not sacrifice her for this,” he says, voice and eyes tempered as steel they look upon.

“Of course not,” Elric says, his tone kind as he shakes his head. “Your sacrifice has already been paid. Many have died so that you could live. Including yourself. You have been reborn from the fire, just as your queen has.” He looks to Dany. “The lives of those you loved were sacrificed to bring your children into the world. _They_ are your Lightbringer.” He once again offers Jon the sword. “And this is yours. Reforged and made new. But it will not burn without blood freely given from you both.”

Jon balks. “You just said–”

“Not enough to hurt either of you.”

“She's already given more th–”

Elric cuts him off once more. “It will not hurt her, or the child.”

“What about him?” Daenerys asks, gripping Jon's arm, a sudden knot lodging in her throat.

“No more than you.” Elric pulls a dagger from his side and offers it to her, hilt first. “His palm, then yours. Cup your hands, I will slip the sword through.”

“That's it?” Jon asks, disbelieving.

He nods. “That is all.”

Dany’s eyes narrow, no more trusting than Jon.  
“You, and Howland, said there must always be a balance.”

“There must. Life sits on the edge of a blade. If unbalanced, all is lost.”

“If we end the song of ice what happens to the song of fire?” she asks, the sudden and treacherous throb of her voice squeezing Jon’s heart.

Elric bows his head, a small, sad smile upon his strange face. “You are wise dragon queen.”

Jon sways, taken by a swift grip of anger and helplessness. “No,” he snaps, moving a menacing step towards Elric. “No. There must be another way. She’s lost two sons already. She must end the second again. You will not take the others from her. It’s too much.”

Dany grasps at Jon's tunic, her knees nearly buckling at the gut wrenching pain of knowledge fighting with his outrage in her defense. The strength of both washing through her like a storm swept wave, lifting her up and crashing her against a rocky shore.

Jon spins, grabbing her up in his arms, protecting her in the only way he can. “We won't do it. I won't let them take them from you.”

“I never said they would be taken from her,” Elric corrects, voice strong, to break through their turmoil. “She will still have her sons, they will only be different.” 

A huge breath rushes from Dany, then his words settle in her mind, leaving her weaker still. She twists her head from its hiding place in Jon's chest. “Different? You would take their fire?” The idea is certainly better than losing them, but still unimaginable.

“Not I, your Grace. I'm afraid balance demands it. You know the destruction fire can wield if not held in check. Your family's history is proof enough.” 

Jon holds her tight, the feel of his hand cupping her head, the other spread across her shoulder blades, keeping her steady. “Will all magic be gone?” he whispers, uncertainty lacing his words.

“Not all, but what is left will be much less than it was. We can never allow any to become too strong again.” 

Dany pulls away just enough to look into Jon's beautiful eyes. They stare at one another, no words spoken, hearts already settled. He is her shield, her, his flame in the dark, and neither are willing to give the other up. They will fight for what they have, until they can fight no more.

All of their uncertainties dropped away like cast-off cloaks, Dany grasps the dagger from Elric, bright violet eyes still set on her husband. At Jon's nod, they lace their fingers together.

Elric raises Lightbringer, readying it to slip it through. “Repeat these words,” he tells them. “Together we shall end the darkness and in the dawn remake the world. We swear it by ice and fire.” 

Pressing the dagger on edge between their palms, they repeat the vow. “Together we shall end the darkness and in the dawn remake the world. We swear it by ice and fire.” 

Dany pulls, swiftly; the steel bites, slicing through their palms. She lets out a small gasp at the sting as Jon winces, though both expected it. Elric hesitates, eyes darting between them, the fabled blade trembling in his shaking hands. He closes his eyes briefly at the wonder of it all then slips the blade between their palms, before raising it again, slicked with blood, in one graceful and fluid motion. None of them breathe as he passes the blade reverently to Jon.

His bloody hand forgotten, Jon grips the hilt, shocked by the feel of it in his hands, like slipping on an old glove. It begins to glow, red, then orange, then erupts into brilliant blue flames. Jon looks past the fiery sword, watching the light dance in his wife's eyes as she smiles.


	15. But still my heart is heavy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More time spent at the Isle of Faces, returning home to many questions, a lovely reprieve from all the stress, then those pesky Northern Lords are dealt with once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Made it back in a more timely manner this go around :) I want to thank all of you for your sweet words and taking the time to read and comment on the last chapter, and all the others too. I've enjoyed the hell out of writing this fic, but it does come with its fair share of nerves every time I post. While I have had a few not be so happy with me, only once have I received any hate, and considering the past week, I'm exceedingly grateful for that. So for you good guys out there who leave us writers love and encouragement, and not hate, THANK YOU! It truly does mean the world to us!
> 
> HUGE shout out to my queen, Meisiesmut! She beta-ed this for me and also provides tons of love, laughs, and support to me on a daily basis. I love you, M!! As do my other precious Tarts- Sparkles, Frostbitepanda, Jaqtkd, Ashleyfanfic, and Noordinarylines. I love you ladies to the moon and back!!! If you have perchance been living under a rock somewhere and haven't read their fics, please do crawl from your hole and get to it. You won't find any better Jonerys fics out there, and make sure you leave them some love too! Makes em write more :)

Jon sheaths Lightbringer, the flames dying the moment the blade hits leather. “How do we kill him? Better yet, where do we find him to kill him?” 

Elric clasps his hands at his back, slowly shaking his head, eyes downcast. “That we do not know.”

“Which, do you not know?” Dany questions, while Jon wraps her hand in a scrap of linen Elric provided for their wounds.

“Either one, I’m afraid,” he admits.

Jon’s frustration is palpable, jaw clenched, the muscles twitching, his eyes narrowed as they scan the trees. But his touch never shows his anger, his fingers gentle as they tie off the ends of the cloth and slowly let Dany's hand slip free. “You say you know it's us, and give us this sword, but you don't know anythin’ else?” he asks, tone cutting.

“Perhaps your brother, Your Grace,” Elric offers. 

Impatient and incensed, Jon barely manages to stand still under the strain as Dany wraps his own cut, his body vibrating much like a rope drawn out too fast. He goes straight to Bran the moment she's done, squatting down in front of him, as eager to see his brother as he was a week ago.

Bran looks back at him, sunken eyes studying intently. “You're different.”

Jon’s grin is fleeting, more of a grimace really,as he drops his head, ever humble. “I don't feel different.”

“You are.” 

Practiced as he is, Jon pushes it aside, leaving it to wait with all the other things that must. “You won't come home?” He already knows the answer but cannot stop himself from asking, his need to have them all under his watchful eye too strong.

Bran looks up at Dany, his spindly hands rubbing at the weirwood’s roots, almost caressing them. “It's not home anymore.” His eyes fall back to Jon. “For either of us.”

Jon draws in a shuddering breath, running a hand over his face. “Sansa, Arya. They're going to kill me when I come back without you.” He focuses on the moss under his brother's feet, flustered, his voice having come out ruined and strained, as if the thorns and brambles of the surrounding forest had invaded his throat. 

“They'll understand. We all have our parts to play and this is mine.” No pain could be heard in Bran’s words, his tone apathetic at best. 

It makes the weight on Jon's heart all the harder to bear. He sinks to his knees, the wet loamy earth soaking through his leathers, as he grabs onto Bran’s withered leg. “When it's over. I'm coming back for you.” His brother’s smile is like a death knell ringing through his head. This is goodbye and now they both know it. “I'm not ready, Bran, not again,” he whispers, shaking his head, willing it not to be.

“We don't have a choice,” Bran’s answer comes, simple and cold, a shock of icy water to a parched tongue.

Anger and fear grips Jon, he struggles against them as a doomed creature does in an eagle's talons. “We do,” he grits out through clenched teeth, “We always have a choice.”

While Dany’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder, Bran is indifferent to the storm ripping through him, face ever a mask, voice like the dead. “You know who you are, Jon. Just as Daenerys and I know who we are. The choice is no choice at all. It just is.”

Jon’s laugh is grievous even to his own ears and he wonders how many more knives will pierce his heart before it truly gives up, never to beat again. Gathering his strength, drawing from his wife's and brother's–both, and so many more counting on him–he takes another deep breath then fixes his eyes on Bran. “Is there anything you can tell me? Are the trees helping?”

“I feel stronger, but I haven't tried to see him yet. Lord Reed and I have been working on talking to each other.”

Jon twists around, looking over at Howland standing behind him. 

“I can feel him, but I cannot make out words. We believe his feelings will be enough though,” he says, answering Jon's silent question.

He looks back at his little brother, eyebrows lifted. “If you can't actually speak to him, how will this possibly help us? Some feelings aren't enough to keep you here Bran.”

“The longer I’m here the stronger I’ll become. What I can't get through to him, Meera can send with a raven.”

Knowing his arguing is useless, Jon grasps Bran’s arm, eyes threatening to spill the tears he’s been forcing back. He swallows hard, desperate for the knot in his throat to go away.

“I saw the last time you told me goodbye,” Bran murmurs, his returning grip weak. “I'm sorry Mother was so hateful and that I couldn't answer you. I wanted to.”

Jon gathers him into a hug, careful not to crush him. Even bundled in furs, he feels brittle and breakable, much like his own heart does. “I love you, Bran. I will see you again. I promise. This isn't goodbye,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to his hair.

“I love you too, Jon.”

He lets him go quickly, standing and turning towards Elric, focusing all his attention on the strange man lest he crumble. “You’ll watch over him and Meera.” It isn't a request, but an order from the King, Hero of the Dawn. _Whoever in the seven fooking hells he is now._

“It will be our honor, your grace,” Elric assures him.

While Jon continues to speak with Elric, Dany squats down, taking Bran’s hand in hers. “Thank you for helping us. I hope we'll see you soon.”

“Take care of him. And the children.”

“Children?” she wonders.

“Three, I believe. Two girls and boy. All healthy and happy and beautiful.”

A soothing and quieting touch is gently laid upon Dany’s soul and she must weep a little. “Thank you,” she whispers, squeezing his fingers tightly, wiping away the sudden tears with her other hand lest Jon see.

“Tell him soon,” Bran asks. “He needs the hope.”

“I will, I promise,” she swears, with a small smile and squeeze of his fingers.

She stands, finding Jon shaking Meera’s hand. He mumbles something to her she cannot hear, then walks away, stopping and leaning against a tree just down the path. It takes all her will power not to go to him, but steadfast she waits, giving him time to muster his strength and for Howland to say his goodbyes to his daughter before she does the same. 

Dany hugs the brave woman, unwilling to ignore the kindred connection she feels towards her. “Thank you for your loyalty, Meera. We will not forget it. Don't hesitate to send for us if there's a need. If we can't come ourselves, we’ll send someone.”

“Of course, Your Grace. And thank you. I think we'll be fine here. Much safer than we were beyond the Wall.”

With a firm nod to Elric, and another smile for Bran and Meera, Dany leaves.

Despondency clings to her husband like a wet tunic. The sight of his hanging head and pinched brow making Dany's heart feel heavy as a stone within her chest. She laces her fingers with his, giving a gentle squeeze. He looks up, only for a moment, his smile, brief and aching, then follows Howland into the forest again. This is a pain she cannot ease with words, so she stays silent, not letting him go until they climb upon Drogon's back once more. 

His arms never leave her waist, hands splayed across her stomach, nor does his head lift from hers all the way back to Winterfell. 

 

\---

 

Sam’s waiting in the Wolf's Wood for them when they return, the thin light of a late winter’s day reaching through the trees like long pointing fingers, leaving everything shaded in greys. 

“He stayed then?” he asks, as soon as they're all standing on their feet again. Jon only nods, still too tormented to acknowledge his brother’s absence out loud. Sam pats his shoulder awkwardly. “He’ll be alright. He survived years beyond the Wall, don't forget.”

“I know,” Jon sighs.

Then Sam’s eyes brighten in his round face, his fingers worrying each other as he does a little dance, looking very much like an excited fat squirrel. “Did you meet them? What’d they look like? What’d they want with you?”

A smile creeps upon Jon, unbidden, Sam’s excitement contagious. He loosens his sword belt, freeing Lightbringer from beside Longclaw then unwrapping it for Sam to see. He pulls it only a few inches from its scabbard, the red glow impossible for his friend to miss.

By the height of his gasp, one would think Jon punched him. “Gods be good, Jon, is that...”

“Yeah.”

Sam's wide eyes dart to Dany behind them where she's soothing Rhaegal. “She's all right? You didn't have to–”

Jon holds out his wrapped palm, the blood stain bright against the creamy linen. “Just a bit from both of us. I wouldn't have taken it otherwise.”

“O’course not.” Swaying now, Sam’s smile softens. “I'm happy for you.”

“Not sure it's anythin’ to be happy about,” Jon says with a wry huff.

Sam winces. “Proud then?” 

With a shake of his head, Jon hugs him. “Thank you, Sam. For everythin’.”

“I haven't done that much,” Sam titters, hugging him back.

“You have. For me, for all of us. You findin’ the Valyrian recipe may save us all.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam skirts around the praise.“Nah, you're gonna do that.”

“What if I can't?”

“Jon, you can't possibly think that after everything.”

Sighing, he shakes his head again. “I’ll do my best. Anythin’ happen while we were gone?” he questions, moving on to less uncomfortable things.

“No, just the same as yesterday. Preparations.”

Dany joins them then, and Howland. The four make their way to the North gate, Jon wishing to keep their arrival as quiet as possible. “I need you to bring my sisters, and everyone else to us, Sam. We have to talk. None of the lords or ladies yet, except maybe Lyanna, if you can find her.” He watches as Lord Reed heads for the godswood, gratefulness easing his strain a bit. “Show Howland to Bran’s rooms when he's ready.”

“All right. Bring them to your solar?”

“Aye, that'll work. But don't rush. Give us a bit to thaw out and catch our breath.”

With a nod they go their separate ways. Jon and Dany slip up the backstairs of the armory and across the bridge to their chambers, as away from prying eyes as possible.

As soon as the door shuts behind them Jon sinks against it, yanking at the furs he's confined in. Dany goes to their bedroom, tugging at her own clothes, feet dragging. After dropping his clothes on the floor and placing his swords in the corner, Jon joins her where she stands in front of the fire, now stripped down to only his tunic, leathers, and stocking feet, her in the simple wool dress she wore under her coat. He walks into her arms when she reaches for him and they stay there, just holding one another, letting the fire seep the cold from their bones so long she nearly falls asleep standing up.

“You're so tired,” he frets, rubbing her back and peppering kisses across her hair. She shakes her head, though her eyes never open. He heaves a great sigh. “Dany, I’m exhausted. If I am, I know you are.”

She drags her head from his chest giving him a weak smile. “I am, but I'll be alright.”

He nods towards the bed, hands patting her hips. “Go lay down and have a nap. I can handle everyone.”

Dany rubs her face, willing herself to push through her exhaustion. “No. I won't have you doing it alone. I’ll be fine.”

His pretty eyes narrow at her. “You are so stubborn.”

She smiles, stroking his cheek, still reddened from the cold. His beard needs trimming she notes. Her fingernails now disappearing into the crisp, black hair. She maneuvers him back onto the trunk at the end of their bed then sits on his lap. His arms encircle her, a deep shuddering breath leaving him as he rests his head against her chest. She pulls at the leather strap still holding some of his curls hostage despite the whipping wind it fought against for hours, freeing them for her fingers to tame, then kisses his dark, furrowed brow. “You are too good for this world, Jon Snow.”

He sighs again, the hand resting on her thigh reaching up to give her arse a half-hearted smack. “Don't.”

“I will,” she insists, lifting his sullen eyes to hers with gentle hand to his chin. “I married the best man this world of ours has to offer, and I will shout it to the rooftops for the rest of my days.” 

He lets out a gruff snort, eyes rolling before letting them falling closed. He’s so tired. “How’d you know I’m the best. There's thousands you’ve never met. Anyone of them could be better than me.”

“They couldn't be.” He looks up with a scowl and she lays a finger over his lips when they open to protest. “I know because there isn't one thing about you I can think of to improve upon.”

To her relief, a meager smile tugs at the corners of his alluring mouth. “Not even how much I brood?”

She laughs. “No one broods as beautifully as you do, but I also know how to make you stop brooding,” she whispers, nuzzling into his neck, lips nipping at his cool skin.

His hands slide up her back and side, pulling her closer. “Aye, you're quite good at that.” Then his lips find hers, capturing them in a kiss that quickly turns heated, their emotions still churning just below the surface from a week of turmoil. 

“Dany,” he mumbles into her mouth.

“Mmmmmmm.”

“Someone’s knocking.”

“Damn them,” she hisses, pulling away. “Can a wife not have a moment with her husband?”

Jon runs a soothing hand across her cheek, then over her braids. “The joys of being king and queen I’m afraid.”

Her eyes turn mischievous. “Let’s make them wait.”

That pulls a smirk from him, but he doesn't concede. “I’d rather have it over with so I can have ya for the rest of the night.” 

She nods, understanding. “Are you ready for this?”

“No,” he admits.

She smiles a smile like pale wintry sunshine. “I love you.”

“I love you.” He presses a kiss to her forehead. “I couldn't do this without you. You do know that?”

“Yes, you could.”

He pulls away, his precious face breaking her heart. “Maybe _before_.”

She kisses his nose, no longer so red or cold. “You have me there.”

“Let's get this over with.” He lifts her from his lap then stands himself, leading them into their solar. 

When he opens the door a wall of faces greets them–his sisters, Tyrion, Davos, Varys, Missandei, Grey Worm, and Jorah. Sam stands behind them all, a pained apology twisting his features. 

Jon stands back and waves his hand dramatically. “Come in, _everyone_.”

“What is the point in having any of us if you two are going to keep running off half cocked to gods know where without telling anyone?” Tyrion grumbles as he shuffles in first. 

Sansa is hot on his heels, just as irritable. “You could have told us you were leaving, Jon. It might have helped me deal with the lords better.” 

Davos clasps Jon’s shoulder with a fatherly hand as he enters. “Glad you're both back safe.”

“Thank you. At least someone is,” Jon replys, eyes rolling, causing Davos to chuckle.

The rest file in, thankfully holding their tongues and the room seems to shrink around them, now filled to the brim. 

Ignoring all the expectant stares, Jon gives Dany a pointed look, eyes darting from her to an empty seat by the fire. With a small placating smile she sits. He follows, standing behind her, arms braced across the back of the chair. 

“Well? Where have you been all day?” Sansa asks, impatient as usual with her brother's sullen silences. “Your note told us nothing. What's happened?”

“Yes, _please_ ,” Tyrion adds. “We’re all quite curious.”

“This wasn't something we planned, or were given much time to think on,” Dany censures him, too tired to suffer his bruised pride at being left in the dark.

“Howland Reed arrived late last night…” Jon says, bringing all eyes to him and actually enjoying their shocked expressions. 

Together, he and Dany tell them of Howland's visit and where it lead them that day, leaving most in the room in confused silence.

Except for Sansa. “Where’s Bran?” she asks, voice wavering. 

Jon takes a deep breath, steeling himself, eyes sliding to the floor. “He’s alright.”

As he knew it wouldn't be, that's not nearly enough for her. “Jon. Where is Bran?”

“He stayed behind,” he answers, his voice creaking like a door held warily ajar.

“WHAT?” she screeches. “You left him there, _alone_? We just got him back. How could you?”

“I didn't...”

Dany stands and Jon’s words fall away. She walks over to Sansa and takes her hands. “He isn't alone. He’s safe and will be well cared for. I know it may not seem like it, but Bran is a man grown. It was his choice to stay. Not Jon’s. The last thing he wanted to do was leave him.”

“Then he should have brought him back fighting and screaming,” she accuses, her icy eyes staring daggers at Jon.

His misery getting the best of him, Jon cuts her right back, face a twisted sneer. “The way you fought for Rickon?“

“Stop it. Both of you,” Arya snaps at them.

Shamed, the siblings turn away from each other. Only some hesitant shuffling and the crackling of the fire filling the silence as the others give them time to compose themselves. 

“But, why?” Sansa finally begs, summoning tears to torment Jon further. “Why would he want to stay there when he could be here, with us?”

Knowing her pain all too well, he goes to her, pulling her into his arms. She wilts into him, unable to deny the comfort. “This isn’t about what we want anymore, it's about what we have to do to live,” he tells her. “He needs the trees. The Isle is covered in weirwoods. They help him see things, make him stronger. He needs both to help us. And I had to let him.”

“Who’s with him?” she whispers.

“Meera Reed and…the Green Men,” he answers, letting her go.

“Green Men?” Arya asks. “They're real? You saw them?”

“They're real,” Jon assures her. “They gifted me with something too.”

He walks into the bedroom and comes back with the sword, pulling it free from its scabbard and giving it a twirling flourish.

They all stand moon-eyed and speechless as the red glow turns to blue flames dancing up the blade. 

Davos shakes his head, chuckling, “One day, I’ll stop being surprised by you.”

“I need wine. Why is there no bloody wine in here?” Tyrion asks, green eyes darting about the small room in search of his liquid courage, a sort of stunned incredulity having overtaken his face. Missandei disappears into their bed chamber and right back out again, a full cup in her hand, passing it to a grateful Tyrion. He downs it in one gulp, much to her annoyance.

Arya creeps closer to her brother, grey eyes wide with awe. “Is that what I think it is?”

Jon smirks, giving a short nod, able to relish in his pride of owning such a weapon with his little sister. 

“They had it, all this time?”

“Aye.”

Her wonder filled expression soon changes to one of mischief. “Well, are you done now?” she asks. “First a king, then a Targaryen and heir to the bloody throne, and now Hero of the Dawn? One would think you’re trying to prove something.” 

Only from her could he take such teasing and laugh about it. 

“What does this mean?” Varys asks, eyes on Jon. “You, are this prince who was promised?”

Jon shakes his head. “Not just me. Both of us,” he says, meeting Dany’s eyes, then does his best to explain what they were told by Elric, again leaving the room in silence.

Tyrion soon breaks it. “Some are born into greatness, some achieve greatness, others have greatness thrust upon them. Our King and Queen seem to have managed all three.”

Jorah gives a wry smile. “And he isn't even drunk.”

“Our odds are gettin’ better, I’d say.” Davos adds.

“We still don't know where he is or exactly how to kill him,” Jon warns them. “We’re counting on Bran and Howland for that.” 

“We need to inform the lords,” Sansa says.

“Not today. Dany needs food and rest. We’ll deal with them tomorrow.”

 

\---

 

Jon makes his way into their bedroom as bare as his name day, only a linen towel hiding the interesting parts of him from her eyes as he continues to dry off, having washed away the day's stresses and travel while she rested and ate after her own bath.

A shiver of anticipation crisps her skin at the sight of him in all his naked glory. His own skin, milk-white and sumptuously pale, gives him the appearance of a statue hewn from alabaster, cut through with scattered veins of dark pink scars. The inky mass of his hair flows round him like the sea as he shakes it free of water, his eyes black as the foam-swept rocks upon its shore as they stare back at her own nakedness. She’s never believed in any gods, but looking at her husband, she's of a mind to. How anyone could gaze at the sight before her and not see him as a divine gift is beyond comprehension. He is a work of art and all hers to admire at her leisure. 

Finally joining her in bed, he settles against the massive headboard, legs stretched out, ankles crossed. He wiggles a bit to give his stones and firming cock some room before moving the tray of food from between them over to his other side, no doubt as famished as she was. Dany takes advantage, scooting closer and pressing herself along the length of his legs, laying her head at the top of his warm, thick thigh before he can cover himself with the furs. 

Quirking an eyebrow at her, he smirks, but leaves her be, his hunger diverting his attention back to the cheese, sausage, and bread Missandei brought them. Already having her fill, Dany busies herself with running her nails through the still damp, but crisp black hairs covering his muscular legs. He moans a bit, either from her attentions or in gratefulness of finally having food in his mouth.

She doesn't bother to discern, still engrossed in her enjoyment of his beautiful body, letting time untie them with slow, gentle hands. He's so very different from her. While she’s fair all over, darkness blends with his light, the fine covering of dusky hair allowing his opalescent skin to shine all the brighter. Hard where she is soft. Rough to her smooth. 

One of his hands finds its way into her hair, fingers threading into the freshly brushed strands, lifting, then letting them slowly fall before doing it all again. Her eyes flutter closed.

“I love a maid as white as winter, with moonglow in her hair,” he murmurs above her, with that voice of his. The one that opens her as easy as any book. It's like the furs upon their bed, so soft and deep as it caresses her skin she wants to wrap herself in it and never come out.

“Where did you hear that?” she asks, tilting her head back and looking up at him, the dips and planes of his torso providing a lovely landscape. Her tongue darts out, instinctive, her eyes catching on his cock now lying heavy and full against his stomach.

He shrugs, popping a piece of white cheese into his mouth, chewing it, then washing it down with a sip of wine. “Some wedding or another I went to growin’ up. Always got stuck with the men. That was one of the less vulgar songs they’d sing.”

“How does the rest of it go?” she asks, running her hand over his smooth hip and up the rippled muscles of his side, purposely gliding the silky skin of her forearm against his cock. 

His fingers brush her hair away from her neck, sending pleasing shivers down her spine. “Don’t remember, but that part fits you. Us.” 

_Gods, this man, and what he means to her._

Before her traitorous emotions can get the best of her she grasps at the fanciful. “I should make a verse for you then. Hmmmm.” She taps her fingers over the crease of skin at his hip. “How to describe you…. Mmmm, I know. I love a man a pale as snow, with midnight in his hair,” she sing-songs.

He laughs, eyes twinkling. “Get up here.”

“Why? I’m comfortable where I am,” she retorts, fingers skimming across his stomach now.

Jon grabs her hand before it reaches her intended target. “Because. You're my wife, my queen. You deserve better than my throbbing cock in your face.”

Dany can’t help but laugh at his thinly veiled distress. “Such a noble husband I have. I quite like your throbbing cock,” she purrs, pulling her hand free to pet him, fingers trailing softly from tip to root, causing it to jump. 

“Aye, where it belongs, between those pretty thighs of yours.” He reaches for her, intending to pull her up and over him, but she easily evades his grasp, rolling away and onto all fours, a wicked smile tugging at her full lips. 

He’s struck by her, as he always seems to be. Charm upon charm is held within his wife, like jewels in an intricate box. The sight of her naked and playful only expands the want already boiling in his blood–the need to lose himself in her, to forget about the shit world they're living in if only for an hour.

She crawls back towards him, as slow and slinky as a cat. “Oh, I adore you buried inside me, but I think tonight I shall have you elsewhere. I want to please you as you please me. It's only fair.”

“I am as far from displeased as possible, Dany,” he scoffs, reaching for her again. “Come here and let me prove it.”

She sits back just out of his reach, head tilted and eyebrow raised, her glorious silver hair falling over her naked skin like a waterfall. “Jon Snow. Are you refusing your wife her desires?”

Enticement seems to cling around her like some subtle vapor. The way she said his name–rolling it about her tongue like a sweet morsel, while her eyes glint at him like star light. He wonders sometimes if she's a goddess or witch sent to test and torture him.

Dany watches as he licks his lips, lush black lashes fanning across his reddened cheeks as he sighs, slumping back and shaking his head. “No. I'm tryin to treat her better than a common whore.” 

“Jon.”

When he looks up at her firm tone, he’s surprised to find her smiling at him, lips a breath away from his cock. He’s too stunned by the beautiful sight to wonder how she got there so fast and without his knowledge.

“Gods, you wicked minx. What am I to do with you?”

Her amethyst eyes gleam and glitter. “Let me have my way. You’re no prudish maid. You’ve feasted on my cunt nearly every night since the first. There's no place for reserve between us anymore,” she proclaims, the consummate queen she is.

He nods, swallowing deep, letting out a slow breath, as if pained. "All right then, have it. I’ll not tell you no.”

Triumphant, she leans in, running her tongue slowly up his length, then around the plump head. Jon sucks in a gasp of air, eyes dilating to fat black pools, hips rising up searching for more. 

Still smiling, Dany circles the head of his cock again. Once, twice, three times, loving the silky smooth texture and heat and taste of him against her tongue almost as much as his response. All of it making her cunt clench. While his pleasure is paramount, she knows her reward is certain to be two fold. Watching his beautiful form and face bunch and twist, feeling him come undone within her mouth, will only lead to more pleasure. His, then hers, then theirs. The anticipation spurring her on, she wraps a hand around the root of him, pumping the stiff shaft while blowing cool air over his moist tip before swirling her tongue around it again. 

She may have wanted this to last a while, but can tell by how hard he is he isn't going to hold out for more than a few minutes. She takes it slow despite that, keeping her strokes long and gentle, lips and tongue soft. His resulting moans are music to her ears and the last of his resistance melts away like snow in sunlight as he watches her lips wrap over him before sucking him into her mouth.

"Seven hells.” The curse snags in his throat, fists gripping the sheet beneath him, keeping them from taking handfuls of her silver tresses.

Jon’s barely caught his breath when her hands wrap around him, slowly sliding up, then down as her head does the same. He groans when she pulls off with a pop, but her hands keep going–stroking, twisting, and squeezing from base to tip and back again. Her touch perfect, firm, yet careful. One hand drops, now massaging his stones, pushing him further to the edge. Then she threatens to throw him over it, switching back to her scorching wet mouth.

No wine nor ale has ever made him so drunk.

Dany smiles around his tip as those sooty orbs of his disappear behind heavy lids and his head falls back with a thunk. 

"Are you going to come for me, Jon?" she purrs.

"Fook yes," he breathes out, trying to open his eyes but he just can't with the way her tongue is running over that sensitive line of skin at the head of his cock. 

Suddenly, he's back in her sensuous mouth, sliding all the way to her throat. His hands hit the bed with a slap as he lets out a strained shout. 

She pulls off again, wrapping a thumb and finger around him, pumping three quick strokes, careful to avoid his swollen head. And just as she hoped, his body stiffens, hips rising, his control nearing its breaking point.

"Dany.”

Her name a whispered moan, she plants a hand over one of his thighs to hold him still and sinks back down again. Once there she starts to bob, the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat over and over again. His hips jerk erratically, the noises coming from him nothing but deep guttural pleas.

Three more times she repeats his torture, keeping him trapped in the heat of her mouth a bit longer each time. He's desperate by the third and she isn't sure she's ever felt him so hard.

"Dany, please. I can't.... Please," he begs, his voice hanging on the verge of suffering.

Not wanting his pleasure to become pain, she gives in and takes him all the way, swallowing when he hits the back of her throat. 

Jon’s stomach and stones tighten with blissful torment, his hands now gripping her head of their own accord as his whole body begins to shudder. "Fook, Dany, I'm gonna come," he grunts in warning.

Humming in answer, she pulls away only enough to drop again, swallowing him down once more. Blood rushing like a torrent in his ears, stars burst behind Jon's clenched eyelids, his world exploding from the inside out as he spills down her throat.

Dany presses down over him a little more, taking everything he gives her until he's a spent and shuddering mass of limbs.

She slowly releases him, lightly sucking up his length and gently letting him slide from her mouth. Sitting back as she licks her lips, she rubs his thighs, giving him a moment to recover. "Are you well, my king?" she asks, once his breathing has settled to a more manageable level.

Jon only manages to grunt in response.

She giggles softly, leaning forward and cupping his face in her hands, kissing him with a shameless smirk. "You're welcome.”

When Jon feels her start to pull away he grabs her. "That was….. Seven fooking hells, Dany. I’ll never deny your pleasure again.”

She laughs outright then, burying her face into his sweat-sheened neck. “You never have.”  
He pushes her away only to pull her back and kiss her hard. Then he deftly spins her around pulling her back against his chest, arranging her between his spread thighs. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, shocked he’s able to move so quickly after she wrung him as limp as a scrap of wet silk. 

“Not denying you,” he answers in her ear, breath harsh, hands gathering her breasts in his palms, weighing them gently.

It's her turn to hiss and squirm, her want at an already taxing level from experiencing his pleasure.

His soft touch leaves her nipples hardened, tight and aching, straining, as if they're trying to get his attention, begging him for more. She feels his lips pull up into the slightest smirk against her neck, his eyes no doubt seeing her body’s reaction. Two fingers reach out and slowly circle each taut bud, wide at first, then drawing in closer and closer, but not close enough. Mesmerised and panting, she can't look away.

His cheek presses to hers, lips brushing against her skin. “I love how you respond to my touch.”

She watches as he takes her nipples between his fingers, then pinches, gasping at the bolt of pleasure that runs through the center of her. The dull throb that has been pulsing within her since he walked in naked and divine becomes all consuming, not only in her nipples, now being rolled between his fingers and thumbs, but deep within her, her cunt growing hot and full and wet.

Jon lets go, leaving her panting, only to slide his hands down her sides to her hips, then up her thighs and to her knees. He grips them, spreading her wide, her cunt left open and pink and glistening as a dew soaked rose for both to admire. “Leave those open,” he orders, fingertips now trailing up the inside of her thighs.  
She trembles under his touch, stirring Jon's blood again. Nothing save coming gives him more pleasure than indulging her needs. He cups her breasts, thumbs rubbing over pebbled nipples, squeezing and kneading gently to further weaken her. “I want to feast on these. Tease them till you beg,” he whispers, lips sliding up her neck to her ear, placing wet, sucking kisses to sensitive spot just beneath it, the spot he knows stirs her fires to torrid heights. Fingers twisting and pulling at her nipples, he relishes in each gasp and squirm and whimper she makes.

Dany is quickly losing herself beneath his calculated touch, falling further when his hands glide down her stomach, and lower still, where she wants them most. Her breath hitches as his fingers slip through curls to slick folds, her hips rocking up to meet them.

“You’re fooking soaked. You loved sucking my cock, didn’t you?” he asks, fingers sliding over her swollen lips, then up to her hardened nub. 

“Yes,” she answers, her breathing becoming erratic. Her head falls back against his shoulder, the sight of his hands on her body too much. 

Jon is having none of it. “Open your eyes, Dany. I want you to watch me.”

Shuddering, she forces herself to do as he asks, even though he’s making her hazy with lust, turning her muscles and bones to liquid, her head spinning. He continues to nuzzle into her neck, placing slow, gentle kisses along her heated skin. A noise Dany isn’t sure she could describe leaves her throat. It makes him chuckle into her ear as one of his hands goes back to her breast, fingers pinching and plucking the nipple while the other continues its sweet torment of her clit.

With slow, feather-light strokes, he circles it, around and around and around. Her legs begin to tremble, the ache between them almost unbearable–a stifling sensation of near pain and ravished suspense. Then he changes, moving over it, up, then down and back again, over and over, flicking on every upstroke until she can do nothing but whimper and struggle in his arms.

“Keep those eyes open. Don't stop watching,” his voice rumbles, breath hot in her ear, his beard tickling, sending fresh shivers down her spine.

He curls around her, stretching his arm further until he's able to slide two of his fingers inside her. Dany cries out with pleasure, the deep ache easing and growing all at once. He slips them in and out, slowly stretching her, twisting till they're knuckle deep, only to pull them out and rub her juices over her swollen lips and clit. “See how fooking wet you are? That tight little cunt is so greedy,” he growls into her neck, burying his fingers within her folds again.

Constant and unceasing, he fucks her with them, keeping them inside her a little longer each time, then back out again to torture her clit. Dany believes he may be killing her and she's never been more willing to die. It only takes a minute or two and he’s pushed her nearly to the edge of no return.

Jon continues his torture until he feels her walls begin to convulse around his fingers then pulls them out, her juices clinging to them slick and shiny. “Not until I say.” 

Dany whimpers in frustration, nails digging into his thighs, slamming her own closed, twisting and turning them in a frantic attempt to hold on.  
“Please, Jon,” she begs.

He only gives her a moment’s reprieve. “Open em.”

She does, finding it harder than she expected, her body fighting for control. Then his fingers are back and there’s no mercy in them this time. His arm wraps around her chest, breast in his grasp, nipple caught between his fingers as he grips her cunt, fucking it furiously, his fingers buried deep.

A keening wail leaves Dany's throat, eyes rolling back in her head as every inch of her seems to shatter into millions of blissful sparks. 

Jon cups her with his whole hand, gently rubbing against the movement of her writhing hips. She feels herself pulsing against his palm as she falls from her high, the pleasure drawn out with each subtle movement he makes.

She floats on a wave, knowing nothing but Jon.His nakedness and hers, the way he holds her, keeping her close. The feel of his hands, rough and greedy and devout, bringing her so much pleasure. His fingers now slick with her juices lifted to his mouth, that perfect mouth. Then he lays them both down, face to face, kissing her, a snarling hunger from his lush lips and tongue, melting her as easy as butter. Hers against them–soft and supple–never tasting enough. 

There's nothing better than the merciless way their love digs deep, burning them from the inside out, letting them lose themselves in each other again, slow and reverent, almost devastating in its affection. 

In one smooth motion he’s pulled her leg over his and slid inside her, filling her in one stroke.  
Her back arches, hips curling to take him even deeper. "Jon." His name a prayer, her head thrown back, eyes rolling from the pleasure.

"Open your eyes, My Queen. Look at me," he demands, as their hips continue to thrust against one another.

She has no choice but to obey, meeting blazing eyes as deeply dark as the desert skies she once slept under. They sear his love onto her heart making it swell and beat harder against its bony cage, begging to be closer to him. This isn't about chasing their release, this is about the love between them. Dany feels his devotion washing over her, threatening to drown her, but she only wants more. Everything inside of her wants to know him more, wants him deeper, closer. She tears herself open and takes in all he has to give while pouring out all she is into his loving heart and eyes and tender hands. 

Together their need builds slowly in waves of writhing, tangled limbs, warm, moist skin, shuddering breaths, and pounding hearts until both shatter in each other's arms.

 

\---

 

Morning finds them with a courtyard full of wagging tongues. Leaving Dany and their counsel to follow, Jon works his way through the throng, most clearing a path for him. “Is there a problem, my lords?”

He’s answered with several 'Your Grace’s’ and cleared throats, but no true answers.

“Is there a problem?” he asks again, dark eyes roaming around, prowling for dissenters. No others seem willing to meet them. “No? Somehow, I doubt that. Join me in the hall if you would.” 

The lords follow him like a pack of dutifully trained hounds while Tyrion and Davos look to their queen, eyebrows stitched with worry. 

She raises her own at them. “It is all his to tell, whenever he sees fit. And we will all support him, completely. Understood?”

“Of course, Your Grace. After you,” Tyrion agrees, waving her ahead. 

Jon is placid and peaceful leaned against the high table waiting for everyone to join him, as if they’re gathering to go over nothing more than food stores or when the next hunt should be. But Dany doesn't miss the way his cloak is carefully concealing his new weapon as he beckons her to him with twitch of his fingers. 

He wastes no time getting to the point as she reaches his side. “Many of you may have noticed the queen and I were absent most of yesterday. While we're in no way obligated to give you a running tally of our days, there are some things you should know that have come to light recently. The first should please you, I think. If not, I really couldn't care.” 

Dany bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at his impertinence, thrilled to see him shrug off some of his shackles. 

He stands, turning to her and takes her hand in his, drawing it up to his beautiful mouth and pressing a kiss to the back of it. His loving eyes and smile full of subtle charm and only for her. “Three nights ago, Queen Daenerys gave me the honor of becoming my wife.”

A raucous chorus goes up, filling the hall to the rafters with bawdy yells, banging goblets, and stomping feet. Then someone hollers above the noise about witnesses and little Lady Mormont takes to her feet. “I stood witness. A proper Northern wedding it was. A love match.”

Her last words did not have the desired effect, the fracas dropping to a murmur rather quickly. 

Jon doesn't allow time for anyone to question them. “A feast will be had when the war is won. We’ll not waste precious food or time for frivolities or formality,” he informs them, escorting Dany to her seat, but not taking his own, choosing to stay standing. “And I’m sure some of you are chomping at the bit to ask about our intentions for ruling, but that too, will be dealt with after we have defeated the Night King.”

“Be assured, whatever we decide, we will do it together, as equals,” Dany adds with a gentle smile.

“And if our king dies in battle?” someone asks.

Jon’s jaw bunches, lips pinched into a hard line, his eyes narrowing. Dany runs a hand up the back of his thigh in gentle warning despite her own rankling. His bandaged hand flexes as his voice rings out, collected and deathly calm. “She is now your Queen and my heir, as I am hers. I will hear no more about it. Both decisions are final, witnessed, and sealed.”

His words met with the silence they demanded, Jon looks to Howland, nodding his head. All eyes shift to the stranger as he rises. “Howland Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch,” Jon introduces him to a rumbling of dismay and disbelief. “Lord Reed came to us night before last to help me put to rest questions that have haunted me all my life. Those of my birth.” 

The rumbling grows, then abruptly stops as the king's grim scowl sweeps over them.

Jon can feel the tension from those closest to him, their concern and worry piled so thick upon his shoulders the flaming sword at his hip would even have trouble cutting through it. Their creaking chairs and shifting feet echo through his head as ominous as war drums. But he's made his choice. No more will he suffer the title of bastard. Standing tall, he faces those who have judged him all his life. “He’s here now to stand witness of my true parentage.”

“Ned Stark was your father, that's all we need to know,” Lord Glover braves, his tone kept conciliatory. 

Jon shakes his head, swallowing down the lump in his throat. Lady Mormont’s eyes catch his, she nods, giving him the last nudge he needs. “While it still pains me to say it, Lord Stark was not my father. He was my uncle, sworn to protect me from those who would wish my death, by his sister, Lyanna Stark. My mother.”

The hall erupts into chaos.

“My Lords and Ladies!” Jon shouts over them, walking into the fray, filling Dany with anxiety. She rises, ignoring Tyrion and Missandei’s panicked stares. “If anyone understands your shock and confusion it is me,” Jon continues, “but if you would listen to Lord Reed, you will be assured of the truth. Let him speak.”

Howland steps forward, grasping onto the moment of respite Jon provided. “Your king speaks true. I was there the day Lyanna brought him into the world. Saw her drawing her last breaths on that blood soaked bed, him only hours old. She begged Eddard to protect him, swore him to keep her secret so her son would live. He promised her and he kept that promise till his dying day. Even from Jon. And until two nights ago, so did I.”

“You’re a bloody Targaryen!”

“Aye, it's not hard to figure out who my father was,” Jon yells, “but he didn't kidnap her, or rape her as we’ve all been told. She loved him, went with him willingly and according to Bran’s visions, and this septon’s diary,” He points to the book Sam had the wherewithal to place on the table. “She married him after he had his marriage to Elia Martell annulled. Making me Rhaegar Targaryen's trueborn son.”

“Our King, a bloody Targaryen! And married to his aunt!”

Somewhere outside and not so far above the keep, dragons roar, the erie howl of a wolf answering amidst the rumble. The humans held within fall silent as the sheeted dead.

Jon steps forward and sweeps his cloak aside.The diamonds glitter as he grasps the hilt of his sword, the dark blade lighting with its sudden blue flame as he draws it from its sheath, the gesture all strength and will, like the stretching of Drogon's wings. His voice rings out, as mellow and deep as a mummer’s song. “I am Jaegon Targaryen. The blood of Ice and Fire runs through my veins and for that I was chosen, along with my wife, to be a shield to guard the realm of men. This is Lightbringer, the sword in the darkness, the fire that burns against the cold, the light that will bring the dawn, lost and now found and reforged again.” Dany has found her way to his side, he takes her hand in his. “In a few days, Daenerys and I, her children, and her armies go to meet the Night King, you may join us on the field of battle, or face us upon our return. The choice is yours.”

To Jon’s shock and Dany’s pride, every man, woman and child within the hall rise to their feet, then drop to a knee, heads bowed. A knowing smile stretches across her face. 

No longer shall slander's venomous spite crawl across her husband's name like a snake.


	16. For reasons wretched and divine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News from Bran, a visit to Gendry's forge, and Jon makes good on a certain promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Sorry this took so long, real life, stubborn muse, and all that shit. I'm really sorry I didn't get around to replying to everyone's comments last chapter, please know I appreciate each and every one of them! 
> 
> Big hugs to Meisiesmut for being my beta and an endless source of inspiration. This smutty chapter is all for her. <3 Love and hugs for all my other tarts too! I love you ladies!!! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy, this is probably the last of the smut for awhile. Time to go to war :(

No one has sat idle the past four days unless passed out from exhaustion; forlorn figures of wool and fur propped against post and stone, gathering snow. Every available wagon has been packed full to bursting. Crude swords and daggers given to any and all that can possibly wield them, while the clang and peal of hammer on steel continues to fill the freezing air with shrill and brutal music. 

Not a single set of wagging lips has dared murmur a dark word against the King, or his Queen, since his noble birth was laid bare before them. All enmity seemingly banished with a single swing from a flaming sword. Whether loyalty has truly been won though, is yet to be seen. Only battle will prove them true or not, Jon suspects.

He has spent his days like most others recently, overseeing preparations, clearing the ever falling snow and ice with Rhaegal, listening to their advisors drone on and on about staying safe, and stealing moments with his wife whenever possible. The latter being painfully scarce as of late with most of his free time spent with Howland attempting to discern his brother's instructions. 

Caution has been Bran’s loudest message. _Wait. Not yet. Keep preparing. It's not time._

Until now.

The godswood is soft and silent save for Sam’s heavy breathing, the crunch of snow under Ghost’s paws as he paces, and the creaking of Jon’s leather gloves. He cannot keep his hands still, fists tightening and fingers twitching, the only outlet he’ll allow his frayed nerves as he waits for Lord Reed.

His boney grey hands are pressed to the heart tree, head bowed and eyes closed as he listens.

_Or feels. Whatever it is he does to hear Bran._

“He’s headed for the Dreadfort. Saw them through the Karhold ravens. Last Hearth is gone. Head for Hornwood.”

Expecting more of the usual messages, Jon’s heart begins to race a rabbit quick beat within his chest. It's time.

“No. Wait,” Howland starts again. “Further south. Towards White Harbor.” 

_White Harbor. Seven hells._

“Sam, get ravens out now,” he orders, hating the quiver of tension in his voice.

His friend doesn’t worry with hiding his anxiety, fretting on shifting feet. “Where do I tell em to go?”

“Fooked if I know,” Jon sighs harshly, pacing around and running a hand over his head, then down to knead the back of his neck. He turns on Howland. “Is he certain he’s not coming here. Winterfell’s safe?”

“Nothing’s changed as far as Winterfell, Your Grace. Bran still feels his target is the Isle. Especially now that he's there.”

Pushing aside the sickening knot of guilt Bran’s choice always brings to his gut, Jon focuses on what he can do, eyeing Sam again. “If there's anyone left at Hornwood they need to either head straight to us, or get to a ship at Ramsgate or White Harbor. Tell Manderly, he’ll know what to do with his people.”

After Sam runs to do his bidding he turns back to Howland again. He looks weary and weak, sunk down onto the log lying at the weirwood’s base, his head resting against the wide white trunk as if it's a pillow of down. “Have you eaten today?” he asks. Howland shakes his head, even that small movement feeble. “I’ll have someone bring you something then, if you won't come inside?”

He’s all but slept out here since arriving. Jon’s grateful, but it only adds more weight to his shoulders. There's too many risking too much and not a damn thing he can do about any of it.

“I best stay here,” Howland declines, “but the food would be appreciated. Thank you, Your Grace.”

He sighs, as he always seems to be doing lately. “Thank you, Lord Reed.”

 

\---

 

After sending a servant after food for Howland he spots Arya leaning against the doorway to Gendry's forge and decides to kill two birds with one stone. They both need to know and whatever armor is made will have to be enough. 

She spins around before he even gets close to her, always ever aware of her surroundings. While he's thankful she has the skill, he’ll never get used to it. “Brother,” she greets, smirking.

He smiles back. “Little sister.” Wanting a few more minutes of unspoilt time with her before he has to ruin it he wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close as he glances inside the forge. Gendry is in naught but an apron and pants, his sweaty skin shining in the light of the fires. He pulls back, cutting his eyes at her, grinning now. “Enjoying the view?”

“Oh, shut it,” she fusses, slapping at his stomach, then pushes away from his hold, a redness to her cheeks that's not from the biting winter air. “Like you don't enjoy Daenerys’ view all the time.” 

Still smiling, Jon doesn't deny it. He never will again. “Do you love him?” he asks.

She shrugs, scrubbing the toe of her boot into the muddy snow. “I don't know.”

Jon snorts. “Yes you do.” When she catches his eye, he nods towards Gendry. “I know he does.”

“Does what?” she laughs. “Love himself?”

Jon shakes his head, growing somber, her flash of happiness squeezing his heart painfully. “You're not fooling anyone. You two are as bad at it as me and Dany were… are.”

His little sister and her smile vanish, the assassin taking their place. “What of it? We’re likely to be dead in a week,” she says matter of fact, eyes vacant. 

“All the more reason, Arya.” He takes her chin with a gentle hand when she continues to stare ahead, urging her to meet his eyes. She finally does. “I’ve just come from the godswood. We leave tomorrow.” He doesn’t need to explain anymore than that. She’s straightened at his grave words and pleading expression, alert as a wolf when it senses prey. “Take what happiness you can find before it's too late. Don't waste it. You're smarter than that.”

With a stoic nod and a fleeting glance towards Gendry, she hugs him fiercely, then walks off without a word.

Heart heavy as lead Jon enters the forge, quickly wishing he was as stripped down as Gendry when the wall of suffocating heat and fumes swallow him. 

Gendry's head jerks up, eyes going wide at Jon's coughing. He drops what he's doing and steps forward, giving a nod. “Yer Grace. You alright?”

Clearing his throat, Jon waves him off. “I’m fine, though I have no idea how you stand this day in and day out. And remember, it’s Jon to you.”

Gendry drops his head, a grin tugging at his blackened face. “Things are coming along,” he says, ignoring Jon’s gentle reminder, as always. “Working on Rhaegal’s armor now.”

“You’ve finished Daenerys’?”

“Oh yeah, finished it a couple days ago. You’ve both been so busy… I didn't want to bother ya.”

“It's alright. Haven't needed it yet. Are you gettin’ any rest? Not to be an arse, but,” Jon smirks. “You look like shit.”

“Can't say you look much better,” Gendry baits him right back, laughing. Both of them enjoy the much needed laugh, however short.

“I'd like to see it,” Jon asks. “Dany's armor.”

“Sure, it's right over here.” Gendry heads moves towards the two sheeted forms standing in the corner.

“Will she be able to move and not be off balance?”

“O’course. Take a look.” Gendry pulls a sheet off the smaller form. 

Jon’s sure he must look an idiot, eyes wide, mouth agape as he stares at what could only be described as his wife's body made of metal. It’s almost as if Gendry poured her a second skin of steel and she's slipped out of it like some wraith. It gleams with the luster of a black pearl, shining silver, then blue and green, and even the violet of her eyes as the firelight flickers over it. It's exquisite. 

The gorget holds their sigil, set perfectly centered, the deepest of ruby reds, dark as fresh spilt blood. He steps closer, fingering the fine details etched into the iridescent surface. The pauldrons are covered in raised leaping flames while dragon scales cover the brassarts and run down the cuirass from beneath the breasts, a set he’d recognize blindfolded. 

He isn't so sure how he feels about every man within and without Winterfell seeing his wife's body so expertly formed, nor how the young smith managed to replicate it.

“How’d you do that?” He knows he needn't specify, Gendry is blushing to the roots of his hair underneath all the smut.

“Missandei,” he squeaks. “She ah, she gave me the Queen's measurements. Arya helped too.”

Jon’s eyebrows shoot skyward. “Did she now?”

Both of them startle when a throat clears. Ser Jaime has joined them. With a nod of acknowledgement to both he wanders over to Jon’s side inspecting the unusual suit of armor.

His green eyes look it over in rapt appreciation until they meet the King's. Jon's stare is more of a dare really. Jaime’s sure with one inappropriate word from his lips he'll be skewered with that flaming sword at the King’s hip. He decides to be smart and not test him.

“This is some of the finest work I’ve ever seen,” he says, turning to Gendry. “Did you do this?”

“I did. I learned from some of the finest in King’s Landing, Ser.”

“I can see that. Perhaps the student even became better than the teacher,” Jaime praises him with a rough pat to the shoulder. 

Jon narrows his eyes at the Kingslayer. “I trust he’s one of the best at what he does,” he says nodding towards Gendry, “but armor isn't my strong suit. Is this enough to keep her alive?” 

Jaime looks shocked for a moment, hardly believing the king would trust his judgement on anything, let alone the safety of his wife. “In this, on top of that great beast of hers...Doubt she could be anymore protected, unless of course you locked her up somewhere. You're a brave man, Your Grace, but I don't think even you're brave enough to try that.”

The heavy stone of fear that's been sitting in Jon’s gut over the last few days loses some of its weight. He has the urge to grab Gendry and give him a hearty rib crushing hug. He controls himself and smiles at him instead. “Thank you. I might actually be able to breathe again now I know she’ll be better protected.”

Gendry shrugs, biting back a smile. “You just found ‘er, I wouldn't be much of a friend or smith if I didn't help you keep ‘er round, now would I?”

Not wanting to make him any more uncomfortable, Jon turns to the hidden form behind him. “How's mine coming?” he asks reaching for the sheet and pulling it off.

Once again he's speechless and unbelieving. If Daenerys’ was exquisite, his is a work of art. 

“We put leather over yours,” Gendry blurts a bit too loudly after Jon’s long silence. “Might of went a bit overboard on the decoration.”

“Nonsense,” Jaime counters, as Jon runs his fingers over the swirling blood red dragon crawling over the black scales of the cuirass. Two more cover the pauldrons, both snarling, and more still on the bracers. “He’s the Dragon King, he should look like it. And he will in this.” 

_Dragon King._ He’s been called many things, but never that. 

“You two are going to make quite the sight atop your dragons wearing those,” Jaime murmurs behind him. “Any sane man will bow before you both.”

With the sudden pain of a dislocated joint slipping back into place, a thousand unspeakable fears come crashing down upon Jon. He nearly pins Lannister to the wall in a blind rage, until Gendry lays a foolish hand on his shoulder. Jon shrugs him off, but it's enough to rein in the worst of his fury despite the fact he's a breath away from Jamie now. “The Night King isn't sane and neither is his army,” he seethes, words dripping with contempt. “You're a fookin fool if you think any of this makes a damn bit of difference to them.”

Smile vanishing like a coward at the savage fire in Jon's eyes, Jaime steps back, knocking tools off the table behind him. “Of course not. Forgive me, Your Grace.”

With a few deep breaths, Jon restrains his temper and turns to Gendry. “We couldn't have asked for better. Thank you. Have someone send them up to our solar before dawn. We leave tomorrow.”

Gendry's eyes widen, he swallows hard. “Tomorrow?”

“Aye. It’s time.” Jon nods, as grim as a storm at sea.

“My men are ready,” Jaime offers, eager to make up for his recent blunder.

Jon gives him another cutting glance before walking away. “You only think they are.”

 

\---

 

“If you keep watching for him, you're gonna get gutted,” Arya warns, the point of Needle pressing under Dany’s breasts. “He can take care of himself.”

Dany sucks in a breath of air and grits her teeth,swatting Needle away to pick her own sword from the mud. “I know that.”

“You best not be this way when it counts. Him either. You’ll get each other killed, then we’ll all be lost.”

“ _We know_ , Arya,” she snaps, lunging again, and missing as always. Arya is just too fast. Knows her every move before she's even thought it. Dany refuses to quit trying though. The blood of warrior queens runs through her veins, it's not in her to accept defeat.

Jon watches them from a secluded spot across the yard, unknown to Dany, and possibly even Arya. He needed to see her after his fit of temper in the forge, to let the sight of her ease the ache in his bones, to drown out the terrors haunting his heart and mind.

She’s mesmerizing even if she is a terrible with that sword. Her cheeks are flushed, her plump bottom lip speared by delicate teeth, while her chest heaves and eyes sparkle. _She’s so alive._

Suddenly he’s filled with a consuming need, a pulsing rush of longing so strong it's enough to make a sane man go mad.

He finds himself at their side a moment later, both halting their skirmish at his abrupt appearance, Dany breathing hard and wiping sweat from her brow. Arya is completely unruffled.

“I’m horrible at this. I don't need you to tell me,” Dany huffs, the harsh breath blowing a silvery wisp of hair off her forehead.

He doesn't respond, only stares with those sooty eyes of his, something glowing in them, like dark honey, thick and warm. It promises to burn, to leave her a tongue tied and twisted mess beneath him. A surge of heat runs through her and she's struck once again at how beautiful he is, her husband. All black curls, moon pale skin, and full pink lips. Those infuriatingly fetching scars, lush black lashes, and brooding brow pinched just so, every bit made to tempt her. 

“A moment of private, please,” he requests, words silding free and brushing like heavy velvet over sensitive skin. Then he walks away, not waiting for her to follow.

Arya plucks the wooden sword from her hand. “Well, are you gonna go, or just stare after him?” she goads her. “You’ll be even more useless if you stay. You best go.”

Giving her new sister a fierce scowl, one met with a knowing smirk, Dany follows Jon’s retreating form, careful to keep her pace poised. To be a queen and not a silly, besotted girl.

He’s undressing in the solar when she enters their chambers. Gorget gone, bracers too.

“Dismiss them.”

“What?” she asks, taken aback at his commanding tone. 

“The guards,” he answers, the edge in his voice softer, but no less exacting.

“Why would I…”

Her words desert her as she watches him unbuckle his hauberk and pull it off, throwing it on top of the rest of his discarded armor with a dull thunk. Free from all the restraint, he walks to her, graceful as Ghost stalking his prey. He kisses her, his hunger evident and promises deep. Then he's whispering in her ear as she stands on weak legs, “Trust me, you don't want them hearing what we're about to do.”

He leaves her behind again, disappearing into their bedroom. She quickly dismisses the guards to the end of the hall.

So aroused she's nearly ashamed, she finds him sitting on the bed in nothing but his leathers, his snowy, scar cut chest glowing in the firelight.

“It's the middle of the day, Jon.” She meant to sound disapproving, to take the upper hand if only for a moment. She failed. But she doesn't care, it was a feeble attempt at best. Giving into this commanding side of her husband never disappoints, always leaving her thoroughly sated.

“It is, and I don't give a fook. Come here.” His fingers beckon her closer, eyes glinting dangerously from under his brows.

Taking his outstretched hand, she allows him to pull her between his spread thighs. She moves to straddle them, but he holds her firm and gives a small shake of his head, denying her.

“Are you feeling alright? The babe isn't giving you trouble?” he asks, doe-eyed and sweet now, nimble fingers unlacing her leathers beneath her skirts. 

“I'm fine. Maester Wolkan’s tonic works wonders,” she assures him.

“Good.”

Expecting nothing more than him to continue undressing her, she lets out an unqueenly squeal when he manhandles her over his knee, her face landing in furs. 

A wild mixture of emotions explode within Dany. The thrill of arousal, a touch of anger, and even a spike of fear, but only the thrumming desire remains as Jon rucks up her skirts just as he teased her he would days ago. Next, her leathers are yanked down, the cool air against her most vulnerable places bringing her nerves to an even higher pitch. She jerks around, silently begging him for what, she doesn't know. 

His eyebrows raise, daring her to fight him. Violet clashes with chestnut as he nods his head towards the bed, unwilling to bend. She lays back down, remembering she wanted this and that he's doing it to please her.

Jon revels in the sight of all her milky smooth skin covering such a comely arse and mouth-watering thighs. He runs a hand over the warm flesh, watching it crisp into goosebumps before he even finishes his first pass, grinning when a moan escapes her.

Too curious to wait, he slips his fingers between her plump cheeks, finding her already slick, the heat of her nearly burning. This time she gasps.

“Fook, you’re so wet. Do you know what that does to me?” he growls quietly, hips pressing his stiff cock against her of their own accord.

Her only answer is a muffled moan let out into the bed covers.

Jon does his best to get his own desires under control, warring with himself whether drag the torture out for them both or get it over with quickly so he can ravish her. She obviously wants this. Who is he to deny his queen? 

Decision made, he slides his right hand across her firm cheeks and places the left over her lower back holding her lightly in place. He strokes circles over her, enjoying the lovely curves and how good she feels under his palm as he gathers the courage to land the first blow. He’s never struck a woman in his life, never even thought about it. 

Soon she’s squirming beneath his touch, bringing him back to the present. He waits, watching as her body tenses, bracing for his strike. Enjoying it a bit too much, he leaves her hanging on the edge for two or three breaths, then lightly rubs again, waiting for the irritation at his stalling to creep through. It does; a soft whine, restless legs and shifting feet. That’s when he brings his hand down onto her arse with a quick smack, right on the sweet spot where she sits. 

He barely feels the sting on his hand, but he's certain by her sharp hiss and his hand print already blooming pink against white that Dany’s feeling it.

He pins her legs between his and swiftly lands two more stinging slaps, one to each cheek. She gasps, throwing a hand back to cover herself, and tries to sit up.

“Ah, ah, ahhh, you little minx,” he chides her. “You wanted this and I'm not nearly done yet. Lay down,” he orders quietly, putting a bit of authority behind his words, and moving her hand back beside her head. “And don’t move that.”

She flops onto the bed again, turning her head to the side with a small huff, but Jon can see the need written all over it. Her plump bottom lip is trapped between her teeth, eyes tightly shut and brow wrinkled. He can almost feel her fighting it, but it's only a few seconds before she gives in, her face relaxing and a soft pant leaving her now open mouth as her hips rock over his leg.

Before she can examine her feelings anymore he makes sure the only thing she can think about is his hand connecting with her arse, not stopping until she's squealing into the furs and her cheeks are glowing. 

Using his still cool left hand he rubs over her heated flesh to calm them both. “Is this what you wanted, wife?” Moaning, Dany arches her back, raising her hips to press herself against his soothing palm. “Seein’ your sweet arse all pink and warm... Fook, we should've done this sooner,” he grunts, sliding his fingers down between her reddened cheeks, not surprised to find her soaked. 

He rubs through her wet lips, pressing and teasing until her pants turn to whimpers and her hips rock back against him. His cock twitches in the too tight confines of his leathers, the constraint near excruciating and frustrating him enough he smacks her arse again, making her cry out. 

“So greedy.”

That greed, his as much as hers, spurs him on. He slips his fingers further down to her hardened nub, rubbing over it in tight, fast circles while giving her four more sharp licks with the other hand. She's soon a shaking, shrieking mess. He stops, letting her breathing calm a bit, before sliding two fingers into her soaking cunt, but keeps them still, feeling her pulse and quiver around them as she mewls.

“Oh fuuuck, Jon. Please,” she begs, pushing back and grinding against his hand, taking his fingers deep.

“Please what?” he asks, pumping them in and out now, slowly, torturing her further. 

“Make me come.”

Wanting nothing more, he works her hard and fast with his fingers and it only takes two more stinging slaps to her perfect arse before she lets out a low wail, her cunt grasping and clutching at his fingers, entire body shaking. Jon can’t help but shudder along with her.

Gently slipping his hand free, he rises from under her wasted form, giving her time to recover while shucking out of his leathers, finally releasing his aching cock from its torment. She rolls half way over, the rest of her delectable body, from her beautiful face to her dainty feet, is nearly as flushed as her rosy arse. His dark gaze searches for rejection in eyes the deepest of violets, fearful he may have gone too far. But gods be good, he finds only love mixed with fierce need staring back at him.

_Tear me open, they say. Find what heals you, take what’s yours._

She reaches for him and he joins her, pulling her close, running rough hands over silky skin. “Is that what you wanted?” he asks, latching onto her throat, up under her jaw where he knows it send shivers through her, sucking on her pounding pulse, biting at her with his teeth.

A moan escapes her, pleased and yielding as she writhes against him, her own hands grabbing greedy handfuls of firm muscle.

“I didn't hurt you?” he worries, mouthing at a sore vexing nipple.

“Only in the best way.” She shoves him off, eyebrow cocked up wickedly along with the corner of her pretty mouth. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“More than I should've,” he admits dropping his head to rest against her shoulder with a groan. “I can't believe I hit you.”

“Don't do that,” she scolds. “You gave me what I wanted, and now I want more.” She reaches down, taking his cock in hand, firm and insistent. 

Then they're dancing around, fully aware of what they both want, both needing to fuck, but neither backing down or making it easy on the other.

While she let him dominate and tease her relentlessly, she's pushing back now, fighting each advance he makes even though her body wants everything she knows he has to offer. 

Their focus, their strength, their will, fights not to falter, to crumble to ash under the pressing weight that never seems to lift. They will, they know they will, but not now. Now they must fight a different war, one between body and soul.

The battle may be enticing, but it’s not nearly enough. They both need more, the pressure building, control slowly eroding, tied and taken by the touch of hands, rough and soft, melting under hungry mouths. Until at last, any semblance of decorum vanishes. Dany becomes a snarling dragon, hips a vice around his own, fingers dug into his back, sinking him deep and holding him there. 

Her fights and struggles are a delicious thrill beneath Jon, almost as good as her cunt clenched tightly around his cock. Her will bending to his. His desires yielding to hers. Violent bodies, expressing violent needs. Jon’s self-restraint breaks, like a pack of hungry wolves done waiting their turn. 

Every noise that escapes Dany is a curse at her need of him, the touch of his skin against hers flushing everything wild within her out from its hiding place. Yet she feels the care in every collision of their hips mixed with that vicious need, the need to banish fears, to drown them with lust, to only know each other and nothing more.

But the love between them will not be overcome, it makes each thrust connect, deep inside, far deeper than either of them can reach. It made each slap across her arse retain its impact well after her skin had flared in response. And just as effortlessly, it carries them to a shattering end.

Afterwards, after their breathing has calmed and the sweat has cooled their heated skin, Dany brushes curls away from his forehead, running her thumbs over his silky eyebrows as he stares at her, his eyes rich and liquid, full of heartbreaking sweetness. “Not that I didn't thoroughly enjoy myself, but what was all that about?” she whispers.

His brow grows knit and gloomy, face suddenly torn with conflict. He closes his eyes and slides down her body. Laying his head on her stomach, leaving one hand buried in her hair, he skims the other along her bare thigh. 

Breathing her in, Jon wills the fresh tangled scent of their essence to keep his raw nerves calmed. Laying with her is like winter’s thaw, both of them warm, muscles and joints and bones, soft and loose. But the cold grip of despair that had mercifully surrendered and fled to the edges of his mind is crawling back, threatening to steal his peace.

Dany waits, giving him time. His hands draw along her body, as if he's turning her over and over like a worry stone and soon she can no longer keep silent. “Jon? Please talk to me.”

He stops his hand’s path, halting where her leg and pelvis meet, fingers kneading the soft flesh of her inner thigh. “Bran says it's time. We leave tomorrow,” he finally relents. 

Her heart stutters with a still fresh and too well known terror. She swallows hard, forcing it back down her throat. “Where?”

“South and east. Between Hornwood and White Harbor. We need to send the Unsullied and all those on foot in boats down the White Knife. The Dothraki and any others on horses over land,” he tells her, voice devoid of anything.

“Do we have enough boats?”

“No. Not nearly enough.”

“How will we know where to go? Without Howland and Bran?”

He takes a deep breath and rolls onto his back taking her with him. She settles into the crooks and planes of his hardened body, the ones made just for her. His fingers slip into her tangled hair, gently drawing out the knots. 

“We’ll hunt for the storm. That's where he’ll be.”

She's about to ask for him to explain when a soft knock sounds against their door, Missandei's soothing voice filtering through. “Some men have just arrived from the Wall, they're very eager to speak to you, Your Grace.”

Heart pounding its way up his throat, Jon bounds to his feet, leaving Dany forgotten behind him. He rips his leathers off the floor, hopping around, desperately trying to get his feet through the holes as he barks questions at Missandei. “How many? Did they give you names? What’d they look like?” The moment he gets them pulled up over his lovely arse and laced he jerks the door open.

Missandei stumbles back, her brown eyes wide as saucers and unable to stay focused on his face, as he stares her down willing her to answer. She can only stand there, mouth gaping, opening and closing like a fish, not a sound escaping her. 

Watching the two of them and their silent standoff, Dany rises, slipping on her robe then grabbing Jon's tunic from the floor. “Jon, my love, perhaps more clothes first,” she suggests, holding the tunic over his singularly splendid torso. “She may be my best friend, but I have no wish to share my husband with her.”

Her words jolt him out of his frenzied haste, an adorable blush rushing to his cheeks. Dropping his head and taking the tunic, he mumbles an apology to Missandei, stepping behind the door to finish dressing. 

Then a sudden pounding on the solar door startles them all. “SNOW! I know you're in there. Open up!”

Jon’s heart asserts itself again, thunderously beating behind his ribs as his eyes find Dany's. 

“Tormund,” they whisper as one, his face a mask of joyful shock, hers spreading into a wavering smile.


	17. I'm something else when I see you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tormund's back, lots and lots of feels, suiting up in some pretty armor, and stirring the troops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my queen and beta, Meisiesmut for going over this chapter for me, and adding such laughs and smut to my life. And to all my other tarts who make my days exceptional! <3

“Gods, I thought sure he was dead,” Jon utters, voice no more than a husky croak coming from behind his hands where he hides. His frame seems to collapse and shrink, his latent fear ripped away by the favored and familiar voice yelling through the door, leaving him weak with relief. 

Dany steps over, gently pulling at his wrists to bring him out of hiding. His beautiful brown eyes shine, liquid and bright from under his furrowed brow. “He obviously isn't,” she whispers, giving him an understanding smile, knowing what it feels like to have a cherished friend returned after all hope had withered away. “You better go before he breaks the door down. I’ll get dressed.”

Taking a hurried, but restorative kiss from his wife's smiling lips, Jon closes her and Missandei up in the bedroom, then hurries to the solar door, pulling it open. Tormund’s huge fist hangs in the air, his red hair and beard wild as ever and covered in crystals of ice, his bright blue eyes wide and frenzied. 

“Snow,” he gasps, stunned, almost as if he expected someone else to answer.

Grabbing a handful of his furs, Jon yanks Tormund forward and into his arms, hugging him fiercely in a ridiculous rush of gladness. “Gods be good, I thought I’d never see you again.”

Tormund hugs him back, nearly crushing his ribs in his shared enthusiasm, the air forced from Jon’s lungs as he pounds his back. Then he's shoving him away, holding him at arm's length, his sky filled eyes twinkling. “You're not the only one who's hard to kill, Snow,” he rumbles with a cheeky grin and a wink.

“Yer lettin’ all the heat out, Tormund. Move outta the way, I’m fookin cold, you giant bastard,” another familiar voice grumbles from behind his friend.

“Edd?” Jon breathes, unbelieving, shoving Tormund to the side.

“Aye, it's me. Lord Commander Tollett.” Edd grins, stepping up and hugging Jon almost as fiercely as Tormund did. 

“It’s good to see you,” Jon murmurs, hugging him back. “You got the raven?” he asks as soon as Edd pulls away. 

“Aye, and Tormund here showed up about the same time.”

“Did you get everyone out?” Jon asks, shutting the door behind them.

“Castle Black we did,” Edd answers. “Told as many of the Freefolk as we could to head south on the way down.”

Jon’s eyes cut to Tormund. “Eastwatch?”

Tormund shakes his head, eyes downcast. “Buried under the Wall or wights by now, ‘cept me and Dondarrion.”

“He’s here too?”

“Aye, left em with the Hound and Mormont,” Tormund grumbles.

Missandei slips out from their bedroom drawing the men's attention. Jon’s quick to introduce them all. “Tormund, Edd, this is Missandei. She's Daenerys’ chief advisor and best friend. Missandei, this is my friend Tormund Giantsbane, of the Freefolk, and Edd Tollett. He’s one of my brothers from the Night's Watch. Their Lord Commander now.”

“Nice to meet you, my lords,” she greets them.

Both men nod, Edd with a somewhat besotted grin on his face and Tormund scowling as his eyes dart between Jon and Missandei, his bushy eyebrows twisted tight.

“Could you bring us some drink, whatever you can find, and perhaps some food too, please?” Jon asks her.

“Of course, Your Grace. I’ll be back shortly.”

Jon notices Tormund’s accusing eye as she leaves. “Why are you starin’ at me like that?” he questions him.

Tormund points to the bedroom door. “That where you sleep?”

“Aye.”

Crossing his arms over his massive chest Tormund's eyes narrow to ice blue slits. “What you think, Crow?” he asks Edd, nearly knocking him over with an elbow to the shoulder. “His armor's layin’ on the floor, he’s barely dressed, got no shoes on, and that pretty hair o’ his is all messed up.”

Jon’s hands fly to the top of his head, brushing down any wayward curls.

“See! Look at em blush!” Tormund hollers, grabbing Jon by the shoulder, grip like a vice as he pulls him close. “You fookin’ around on the Dragon Queen? With that pretty girl who was just in here? Livin’ up to your name, huh? You bloody bastard. Didn't I teach you right?”

Too agitated to notice his surroundings, Tormund misses the bedroom door opening again, not catching Dany’s presence until she takes her place beside Jon. 

“Tormund. We’re both so happy to see you alive and well,” she greets him with a soft, knowing smile and a gentle hand on his arm.

Jon laughs at his friend’s sudden change of demeanor. Back ramrod straight, mouth agape and eyes bulging as he sputters, “Your lady...Dra… Dragon lady. I… I thought… I didn't..”

“Sit, Tormund,” Jon chuckles, nodding towards the table then looks to Edd. “Edd, this is Daenerys Targaryen, rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and my wife.”

“Wife?!” Tormund shouts, eyes once again nearly falling from his head.

“Yes, his wife,” Dany confirms, still smiling as she sits down at the table, Jon slumping into the seat beside her just after. “We married in his godswood a few weeks ago and I assure you, I’m the only woman he’s got time for.”

Tormund snorts as Edd barks out a laugh, kicking Jon under the table. “Breakin all those vows you made, huh?” he jeers, smirking all the while. 

Jon’s pale cheeks turn a fetching pink as he sits forward in his chair, though his smile is full of joy, and perhaps a bit of pride as well Dany notices. “Aye, that I am,” he concedes quietly, his cherished smile now focused on her. She wonders if he's even aware of his own fingers playing with the ends of her hair. 

They spend the next hour swapping news, learning all they can, before calling the others in for one last meeting. Duty calls them back to its side soon after, the rest of their day spent in preparation amongst their people under the expanse of heavy grey skies, hearts somber and faces no more than ashen masks of resignation despite the tireless vigilance of all.

 

\---

 

She's standing by the fire in their solar when he finally ends his day. She reaches a hand out, no need to turn and see if it's him. The scrape of boots, the creak of leather, and the suffering sigh all giving away who's joined her. 

He slips his callused hand into hers. It's cold, even she can feel the stiffness in his fingers. She pulls them to her cheek, pressing them to her warmer skin as he wraps himself around her from behind.

Cool, plush lips press behind her ear, his whiskers scraping gently against her skin. After blessing her with a few more kisses, he notches his chin between her neck and shoulder, hands sliding to rest over her belly. “You should be in bed.”

She leans into him, nuzzling her face against his, drinking in his scent, all leather and sweat and snow, making her pleasantly dizzy. She's certain no other will ever bring her such comfort, the feeling of warmth that engulfs her like a blanket of furs every time he’s near. “I won't sleep without you. Not while I can.”

“Dany–

“Gendry is quite talented. Did he do all that himself? she asks, overly cheerful, waving a hand at their armour laid out on the table across the room.

She hears a soft sigh as he pulls away a bit and rests his forehead against her braids, then a swallow working his throat. She’ll not be scolded tonight, he doesn't have the heart. Not that he ever does. “Most I think, though surely he had help to have finished so quickly.”

“You, my king, will be…” She trails off, her voice betraying her, the dam she's so carefully maintained as of late threatening to crack. Jon lets her go, only to turn her around and take her face in his hands, coal black eyes full of questions.

Her smile is weak as she stares back at him, but she's unable to strengthen it. She brushes a fingertip over the half moon scar at his temple. “The shameless harlot in me lusts to see you in that armour. To feel my blood turn to fire at the glorious sight you're certain to make. To watch you command our armies, ride upon Rhaegal like the dragon I know you are, to see you in battle cutting down our enemies with ease.” 

Her King will be unlike any other. Braver, more noble, fierce and deadly as the name he bore. She wonders if he realizes how very much he favors that name. _Snow._ Pure and soft, able to make hearts ache. Loved by some, hated by many. Beautiful in any light. Quiet, peaceful. But also grim, and even fatal in the right circumstances. 

“But my heart…” she whispers before her fears become a solid rock within her chest and throat and she can say no more.

He watches as a silver tear gathers and glistens in the corner of her eye, the sight a dagger sinking to the bone. He wants to beg her to cease this torment, but he shares this wretched agony with her and knows she can no more lay it aside than he can. He pulls her closer, leaning down and kissing her honeyed lips before forcing himself to meet those sad amethyst eyes again. “You asked me this afternoon what had gotten into me.” He nods his head towards the table and the stunning, yet cruel armour upon it. “I’d just come from Gendry's forge and seeing those. I wanted to wrap you in that gorgeous steel, then unwrap you just so I could fook you.” 

She laughs, the sound like warm wine being poured from a silver pitcher, a blessed flash of light chasing away the shadows, even if only for a moment. But her mirth fades quickly and she sinks against his chest with a sigh. 

He lays his cheek atop her head, stroking over the silky waves of her hair, soaking in the ease her presence gives his wearied soul. “Then fookin Lannister had to open his mouth and I wanted nothin’ more than to lock you away so I’d never have to feel this gods forsaken fear again.” His voice was thick with resentment and futile protest, the same he felt this afternoon and every minute of every hour before and since. 

She pulls away, looking up, eyebrows knotted with curiosity. “What did he say? Surely he wasn't foolish enough to say something about me?”

Jon shakes his head, letting out a frustrated groan. “No, he just reminded me that no matter what precautions we take our enemy is like no other.”

Dany places her hands over his heart, seeing the brutal scar that mars his pale skin even though it's covered in layers of wool and leather. “Maybe so, but we aren’t either.” She draws her eyes back to his, those fathomless forest pools she loves to lose herself in. “You and I, we’re made from the same substance as the sun. We are dragons. Fire made flesh. We're going to survive, Jon. We will.”

He tries to smile, but it's too twisted and tangled with doubt to be true. He drops his forehead to hers. “Even if we do survive it all, I fear it’ll leave me aged as cracked leather and I’ll just crumble to dust in your hands,” he whispers.

Dany cups his face, forcing him to see her. “You won't, I won't let you,” she insists, voice hard as dragon scales. She takes a deep breath to calm herself, to soothe the crease in his brow. ”Have you forgotten you have a son or daughter that will need you too?”

His answering scowl is as dark and wintery as the night outside their windows. “Of course I haven’t. But Dany, the things we’ve done, the things we've seen...will do and see. You don't come back from those. Trust me, I know.”

He’s right. She knows the truth of it all too well. Trailing her fingers down his cheek and into the coarse hairs of his beard, unpleasant memories swirl through her mind like acrid smoke. “No, you don't. You just keep going. If you look back, you're lost,” she counters, melancholic, like the monotone beat of one's heart. Her eyes drop to their laced fingers, tongue darting out to lick her bottom lip before gazing up at him again. “Take me to bed. I need your skin against mine.”

Without a word, he scoops her up and carries her to their room. They undress each other as they so often do, but this night isn't about feeding their hunger for each other. The lust was appeased when they locked themselves away earlier in the day. Now it's only solace they seek. For their hearts and souls and minds.

They lie together a long while, just as she wanted, skin to skin, his body wrapped around hers from behind, their hands resting over the slight swell of her stomach, both lost in the swirling torrent of defiance against death and the nameless desolation that's dogged their heels for months.

“There’ll be three,” she whispers, finally breaking through the thick silence.

It takes a moment, but his face soon appears over her shoulder, brow furrowed. “Three what, love?”

Dany rolls to her back, holding his hand still over their child, the other rising to stroke his cheek. “Before we left the Isle, when I told your brother goodbye…” She swallows, dropping her eyes to his jaw where her fingers worry his beard, the guilt of not telling him sooner suddenly weighing her down like a millstone. Jon’s hand cups her face, his touch gentle and reassuring, giving her the strength she needs. She meets his fretful eyes, trusting her next words will ease at least this burden. “He told me we’ll have three children.”

His lips slowly loosen into a wonder filled smile, eyes glistening as a short burst of laughter escapes him. “Three?” he asks, his voice catching on a quickened breath.

His joy contagious, Dany cannot control her own wavering smile. “Two girls and a boy he said. All healthy,” she whispers, laughing through sudden tears. 

Jon gathers her close, burying his face against her neck, his happy words garbled and lost somewhere between there and her lips as he kisses her with heart-rending tenderness. Then suddenly he stops and is looking down at her again, concern now clouding his features. “Wait. Why are you only telling me now? That was days ago.”

She nearly flinches, his words a stinging wound. “Things have been… well you know how they’ve been. And I… I was afraid,” she admits, reluctant.

“Afraid?” His dark gaze searches her face, hurt creasing his brow. “Not of me?”

“Oh Jon. Of course not. Never, my love,” she soothes him with whispered words and a soft kiss, but then adds a different fear to his heart. “I was afraid to let myself believe it. He wouldn't have lied to me, you don't think? To give us hope to keep going? A false hope?”

Dany can almost see Jon’s mind flipping and turning over her questions, his expression first grievous, then fading to cautious as he works them to tatters until he's sure of the answers. Then he shakes his head as if erasing the distressing thoughts for good. “I admit I don't know him as well as I did, but no. No, I don't believe him to be that cruel.” 

She bites at her trembling lip, burrowing into his chest, shame adding to her guilt. “I'm sorry for even thinking it.” 

Jon holds her close again, his callused hand running up her spine and into her hair, pressing his lips to her temple. “Don't be, I understand. It's hard to believe in the extraordinary after we’ve had so much sorrow.”

That brings her out of hiding, her heart aching yet determined to hold onto the precious hope that has finally found them, even if it's still so fragile you could grasp it between your fingers and watch it shatter. “We’re going to be okay,” she declares, as much for herself as for him. “We’ll survive this, and do exactly what I said we would. Birth a dynasty unlike any other. Two daughters and son,” she breathes, unable to control her smile, no amount of restraint capable of holding it back. “Did you ever dream of anything so wonderful?”

“I wanted to,” he answers, words leaving slow and deep as a river, his nose running along her cheek. “Mayhaps even let the hope slip through once or twice to grab my heart.”

“Was it a boy or girl you dreamed of,” she asks, barely loud enough to hear.

“A son. I thought of naming him Robb.” He huffs, shaking his head with a wry grin lurking at the corners of his mouth. “Not the best Targaryen name, is it?”

Her smile turns indulgent as she tucks a wayward curl behind his ear. “Maybe not, but it's still a fine name, even if he was given it because of Baratheon.”

Jon’s nose wrinkles at that, his lip pulling into a snarl as if he's smelled something unpleasant. 

_No son of his will carry the name of that fat, selfish fooker._ “We'll come up with another. Leave it for Arya or Sansa to use for one of their sons if they want.” He falls quiet for a moment, fingers playing in her hair, calming himself with the indulgent habit. “Was it a girl you dreamed of?” he asks.

She hums, nodding and smiling up at him as her fingers card through his hair, nails scraping his scalp. “I want them to have your raven black curls. Your eyes too.”

He shakes his head, this time in disagreement. “Our daughters should have your eyes, not some dull brown.”

Dany snorts and Jon’s sure he's never heard such an unqueenly sound leave her. A smile stretches his face as she takes it in her hands, pulling him close, leaving only a breath between them. “Your eyes have never been dull, Jon Snow,” she whispers with alluring authority before kissing him soundly.

“Do you know how much I love you, Daenerys Targaryen?” he breathes into her sweet mouth, taking her air for his own.

“I do, but show me again.”

 

\---

 

They wake to find their family gathered in the solar, the room quite full, a steaming breakfast waiting for them all.

Already Dany’s throat is over tight, her eyes burning, stomach threatening revolt. Today will be one of her most difficult. She has grown to love every face that is staring back at her, their own heavy hearts evident in each wavering smile, wrinkled brow, and downcast eye. She returns to their room in a rush, drinking down Maester Wolkan’s blessed tonic before the acid boiling in her stomach can rise too far.

A gentle hand runs across her shoulders as her breathing settles. Then it wraps around her, pulling her against a firm, muscled chest. She sinks into his warmth, her own arms linking around his waist as she fights back traitorous tears.

“I can send them away if it's too much,” he murmurs against her cheek. 

She shakes her head, but says nothing, not trusting her voice quite yet. A few quiet moments in his arms is all she needs and soon enough she's leading him back to the others.

The meal is a somber affair despite Tyrion and Davos doing their best to pull smiles from each one. Neither is able to cut through the anxiety hanging over them like some dark impenetrable storm cloud. Even so, the care and concern, the love shared amongst them all is easily felt. Be it a bracing squeeze on a shoulder, a comforting hand held tightly by another, or warm eyes full of tenderness sharing a glance. 

Those gathered in this room are family, today and always. The family she longed for all her life. She prays to every god she doesn't know that not a single one of them is taken from her.

It was decided the night before who would go and who would be left behind, none happy with the compromise, but all accepting their role. Tyrion, Varys, Davos, Sansa, Missandei, Brienne, Howland, Edd and the other Night’s Watch men will all stay, along with a small contingent of soldiers made up from each group to hold Winterfell in case things do not go as planned. They have the trenches, trebuchets, one scorpion, steel and dragon glass. It will have to be enough. 

Should the rest not return, should the unspeakable happen and the last Targaryens fade from world, Tyrion and Sansa have been named their heirs.

Food being only pushed around on plates, all come to a unanimous and silent agreement that the time for goodbyes is here, in the private solitude away from thousands of eyes. Each hug lasts longer than the one before and none dare to tease when tears begin to fall, their own eyes full and overflowing. Though no one wishes for this farewell, many rush from the room, unable to keep the reins on their emotions tight, and soon only a handful are left. 

Davos and Gendry have stayed behind to help Jon into his armour. Arya and Missandei do the same for Dany, taking her into the bedroom, while the men stay in the solar. It takes much longer than either expects, having never worn more than a layer of protective leather. 

Gendry's work was meticulous. Their safety having been his most important goal there'll scarcely be an inch on either of their bodies left uncovered. They each get several layers of warmth to be worn beneath, some fur lined, then the slow process of strapping and buckling them in begins. Cuirass, pauldrons, bracers, brassarts, gorget, and many more pieces they don't know the names of. 

Once Jon is all fastened up he shifts about, testing the new weight and restraint on his limbs and joints. He’s surprised to find his movements free and easy, but grows restless as Davos and Gendry look him over, one smiling, the other decidedly not. 

A queer, strangled sound leaves the old knight as he puts a hand to each of their shoulders, his head dropping low as he clears his throat. Jon freezes, heart thundering in his chest as if Dany's horde is running through it. He can feel Gendry's eyes boring into his skull, no doubt curious as to what's happening. The boy is still unused to having anyone’s care, but it's all Jon can do to keep his own composure. He’ll be no help to him. Davos has become much more than his Hand over the past year or so.

Jon feels as small and lost as he did saying goodbye to Ned all those years ago on the Kingsroad. 

Then Davos raises his grizzled head, faded blue eyes wet and imploring as he looks to Jon and Gendry in turn. “Promise me you'll fight. That you won't let those demons take ya. Go finish cleaning up this shit world. I know ya can. But you come back to us. I’ve already lost a daughter and more sons than any man should have to. I’ve no wish to lose the last two I’ve got.”

Jon isn't sure if it's a blessing or a curse, but the ladies join them before either he or Gendry can respond. The three men shuffle apart, making space in the tight quarters and suddenly the room is filled with a heavy silence.

The others only exchange glances as husband and wife slowly draw together, pulled by unseen threads of love and lust. Missandei takes the arm Davos offers and lets him lead the way out, still teary from the farewell with her dearest friend. It takes an elbow to the ribs from Arya to get Gendry moving, but they too head for the door.

“Don’t you dare undo all that work,” Arya taunts them over her shoulder, grin as wicked as a wolf’s. “I’ll be poking you both full of holes if you do.”

Grateful the tension has been cut, Dany’s laughter fills the room as Jon throws a glove at his sister's retreating form. Arya’s too quick of course, the door already closed behind her, the leather only smacking against wood before falling to the floor. 

“I should have Gendry lock her up. Sansa could let her out in a few days,” Jon grumbles, picking his glove up and shoving his fingers in forcefully.

“You would never do that to her,” Dany scolds, taking his other glove from the table and holding it open for him.

His sigh carries the weight of the world as he shakes his head, slipping his hand in, then flexing his fingers. “No. I’ve always known she wasn't meant to be a lady. That one day she’d wield a sword. If I was to lock her up, she’d gut me as soon as she caught me,” he exhales, disgruntled but grinning.

Dany finds her fingers trailing over the dragon emblazoned across his chest, still awed by the craftsmanship, made all the more devastating by the man wearing it. _The sight of him_ … she's never felt a more lethal blow. “You're rare that way,” she murmurs.

He takes her hand in his, kissing her fingertips. “What way?”

She meets his eyes for the first time in what seems like hours, the pain of avoidance finally greater than looking into those deep, dark wells of sadness. “You don't put women in a box. You let us be who we are. Arya, Lady Mormont, me. No other husband would hear of his wife cladding herself in armor and going to war.”

His smile is both haunting and achingly sweet. She wonders how long it will be before she’ll see it again. “Aye, but no other man is married to the Dragon Queen either.” He leaves a quick kiss on her forehead then moves across the room, taking her cloak from where it hangs in the corner, coming back and slipping it over her shoulders, before moving around to clasp it closed at her chest.

“I'm quite warm, my love,” she assures him. “Sitting dragon back we’ll be lucky if we don't roast alive in this armor like meat in an oven.”

His pretty mouth drops into its too often seen frown. “Keepin’ you warm isn’t what I’m worried about,” he mutters, fingers worrying with the front edges of the cloak.

Dany cocks her head and raises an eyebrow, the cloak now gaping open from her arms held akimbo by her hands on her hips. “Hhmmm, what else could it possibly be?”

Jon cuts his eyes at her, narrowed and knowing, giving a slow shake of his head. “You know exactly what it is, you minx. I may differ from some men, but…” His hands find their way beneath the cloak to her waist, grasping it and pulling her close. Dany swears she can feel the heat of them burning through the steel. “I should've kept a keener eye on Gendry while he was making this,” he says, voice rough as gravel now, sending all her nerves alight. “Every man out there will be thinkin’ of doing filthy things to my wife once they see you lookin’ like you do.”

“And just how do I look?” she asks, voice more tempting than she intended as she slips her hand into the loose curls covering the nape of his neck.

He swallows hard, eyes flicking to her lips as he licks his own. “Can we not talk about how you look right now?”

She decides to have mercy on him, his situation below could become quite dreadful restrained as he is. And damn it all to the Seven Hells, they do not have time. “You know I can handle myself,” she tries.

“O’course I know. Doesn't mean I want half the eyes in Westeros fookin you though,” he growls.

She huffs a dismissal, rolling her own eyes. “Have you seen yourself? No other man would dare lay a hand on me with you all…” Words failing, she waves her hands at the overwhelmingly dangerous display he makes. “Besides, there's only one man I’ll ever allow to do filthy things to me. Anyone else tries it and I’ll burn them alive.”

That brings a true smile to the surface, lighting up his beloved face. He wraps her in his arms, his wonderful mouth finding the bare skin of her neck and trailing kisses over it, his beard leaving behind a pleasant burn. “If we live through the day, I can promise you your night will be filled with all sorts of filthy things,” he murmurs under her ear. “Whatever you want.”

Quivering on weak legs, Dany grasps the edges of his cuirass, shaking him loose, her heart raw and stinging in her chest. “We’re going to live countless days and nights, do you hear me?” she hisses, biting at his plump bottom lip. He winces, properly scolded, eyes now melting with sorrow. That she cannot bear either. “But you're still going to make good on that promise this night,” she demands, giving him another bite, gentle this time. “I insist.”

“You won't get a fight from me, Your Grace,” he breathes against her lips, his smile appearing again.

She clutches at him tightly, keeping their faces a breath apart, drawing in his precious air. “I needed your smile today,” she confesses, voice no more than a thready whisper.

His brow creases, his lovely sooty eyes disappearing behind pale lids. “Aye, I needed yours too,” he admits sounding every bit as pained.

She kisses him, unable to restrain herself another moment. His lips are warm, tongue hot and soft and sweet against her own. Jon drinks her in, determined to thoroughly wreck her, and himself, to soak in the heat their bodies never fail to make. They’ll need something to keep them warm as they sit alone atop their dragons flying them ever closer to death.

No air left in their lungs, they break apart, sharing a last lingering look. Before either can change their minds and find somewhere to lock themselves away, Daenerys steps back, gathering her cloak around her like drifted snow, and slips out the door. Jon does the only thing he can. He follows his queen.

 

\---

 

They shut away their bruised and battered hearts leaving only the King and Queen for all to see as they enter the courtyard. Not a single gaze is exchanged in fear they'll simply unravel and run. 

With a quick brush of her fingers against his Daenerys heads straight to her sons to check once more that the few pieces of armor Gendry managed to finish are strapped tight. Crude saddles were also crafted for her dragons, the fear of battling in the skies and having to watch their lover fall too much for either her or Jon to tolerate. 

His love out of sight, Jon pulls himself together, checking and rechecking that all is ready for those being left behind and those marching ahead. 

The freezing air is thick and heavy against his neck as he moves from one to the next, but it's more than just the cold. The very air is haunted with a chill of foreboding and every man, woman, and child feels it as well. While all manner of noise goes on around them, not a voice can be heard, everyone silent, lost in their work, or more likely made taciturn by the misfortune that has befallen them all. It makes the considerable rock of dread sitting in Jon’s gut all the more weighty. 

But there is nothing for it now, the time has come, the choices have been made. Death is coming. It’s time to end it or die trying.

There's one last thing to pass on before taking to the air on Rhaegal. He searches the yard and castle walls until he finds a familiar head kissed by fire. Jon slaps his back to get his attention then loosens his sword belt, pulling it and Longclaw free and handing them over to him.

Tormund is shocked to say the least. “What's this, Snow?”

He points to the hilt of Lightbringer looming over his shoulder. “I can't fight with two. No one I’d rather have this than you.”

Tormund gently takes the beloved sword from Jon’s grasp. “I’ll give it back, hey?” he says. “After we’ve won. That lil’ dragon pup your Queen is givin’ ya will need something to fight with one day.”

Now it's Jon's turn to gape in shock. “How’d you…”

“Not as dumb as I look,” Tormund snickers. “Don't know why you're keepin’ it secret. Should be howling it loud and long for all to hear if you ask me. Give em something else to fight for,” he says, low and earnest.

“Their heads won't be in the fight,” Jon argues, hesitant. 

Tormund shakes his head. “No, but their hearts will, and that's what counts,” he murmurs, pining Jon with eyes alight with wisdom before wacking his shoulder with Longclaw and walking away, his booming laughter following him.

_Is he right? Should they spill their secret? Can their child make a difference before they're even born?_

“Hey Jon!”

He looks up from his momentary daze seeing Arya and Gendry just outside the gates, both sitting their horses, having what looks to be a spirited conversation between lovers despite both of them being focused on him.

“What’d he say to you?” Arya asks, the moment he’s within earshot, always able to ferret out his troubles from the time they were children.

He shakes his head, unsurprised she’d been watching him long before he saw her. “Nothin’. I’ll tell you later.”

“Tonight,” she says, more of a demand than a request.

“Yeah, alright,” he relents. Tormund was right, he knows that now. “You two stay together,” he orders. “I promised Davos and Sansa I’d bring you both back in one piece.” 

Arya laughs, while Gendry smirks beside her, his war hammer still resting across his lap. “Yeah, and I promised them the same about you,” she snorts. “Go find your dragon, brother. If you make us wait much longer the rest of this bunch is gonna turn tail and run.”

Jon waves her off. “Have you seen Ghost. I wanted him to stay with you.”

A slow smiles pulls at her lips as she stretches her arm out, pointing over the ranks of Northmen towards the Wolfswood. “He’s just there. With his sister.”

Perplexed, Jon tugs her foot from the stirrup then slips his own into it, pulling himself up by the saddle horn to see for himself. Arya’s horse squeals, prancing about, angered at the extra weight, but Jon ignores it, easily holding on and smiling at the sight that greets him.

There, just at the edge of the Wolfswood stands Ghost and Nymeria surrounded by a scattering of smaller wolves. 

“I thought she was gone, like all the the rest,” Jon murmurs, enthralled by the direwolf siblings together again.

“I ran her off to protect her from Joffery and Cersei before we ever made it to King's Landing. I came across her not far from here on my way home,” Arya explains. “Her and her pack. She wouldn't let me touch her, or come with me, but she knew it was me.”

Jon turns, grasping Arya's head in hand and planting a kiss atop it. “I’m glad he has his sister back,’ he stammers, voice sparse and catching. 

He drops down off her horse and walks away after squeezing her thigh. “She's glad to have him back too,” she calls after him. Jon can only raise a hand in the air and keep walking. 

His wife is already atop Drogon when he joins her, and while he’d love another chance to hold her, to draw breath from her heavenly mouth again he mounts Rhaegal instead. He will be a king worthy enough of his Queen. 

Once she's sure he's seated and ready, confirmed with exchanged nods, Dany sends Drogon into the skies. Rhaegal follows his mother and brother the short distance to the small rise near their waiting armies. He lands beside them with only a slightly less earth shaking thud than his brother did, drawing all eyes to focus on the king and queen and the roaring dragons they ride.

Jon surveys their armies as the dragons settle a bit. The Northmen paint a picture of grit and resolution, though some faces are still shadowed with doubt. The Unsullied stand motionless, silent and impenetrable as always, while horses dance beneath eager Dothraki riders as they scream savage battle cries, arkahs held trembling in the frigid air in salute to their queen.

 _“Dothrakhqoyí! Kisha dathrakh lajat athvilajerar jin asshekh!”_ Daenerys shouts to her khalasar, having risen to her feet upon Drogon's back. Then she calls to her Valyrian soldiers. “ _Dovaogēdys!_ We go to war this day!” 

A resounding cry erupts from the Unsullied, spears and shields clashing to mix with the Dothraki screamers, as Dany continues to stir her men. Jon is buoyed to see that even some of the Westerosi have joined in on the ruckus, their swords held high as they add their voices to the call.

So small, yet so fierce, this woman he calls wife. No other deserves to be called Queen save her.

Iron floats in her breath, filling the savage foreign words that flow from her tongue with thunder. Their harshness drops Jon into the midst of battle, sounding of guttural screams, clashing blades, and steel cutting across flesh. Yet her beauty keeps him grounded. It is absolute, terrible even, enough to cause one to tremble before her. Standing in her gleaming armor, her cloak and hair of snow whipping around her delicate features, her violet eyes spark, flecked with the ash of her enemies. He knows of the ancient blood and fire that flows through her veins, the magic that gives her an ethereal glow. She has conquered and crushed empires beneath her dainty feet. Birthed dragons, and survived much more than scorching flames. Armor resides under her skin, stronger than the pearly black that surrounds her now. Born amidst a storm she was made for war. And right this moment, Jon couldn't love her more.

“We do not fight for a throne, nor crowns,” she continues, every soul before her enraptured. “It’s not lands or castles we want. We do not fight for the riches of Westeros. We fight for life!” One hand has fell to the metal covering her stomach and Jon wonders if Tormund got to her too. “For our lives, for the lives of those we love. Husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers. For our children and grandchildren. Because death comes for us all! We fight to live!”

The near deafening cries of their people rattle Jon’s very bones and it's only then he sees all eyes have fell to him, expecting a speech just as rousing from their king. Thankfully it wasn't just their armies his Queen stirred. 

He had dreamed of leading men when he was just a boy, like the Young Dragon, Daeron Targaryen. Now here he was, a Dragon King in his own right, leading an army unlike any other alongside his Queen, out to conquer death itself. A ferocious quickening rises in his blood unequal to any that have come before, filling him with a furor he can't control.

“Everything you hold dear, death threatens to steal from you!” he roars, Rhaegal rumbling his agreement beneath him. “No matter your birth; North, South, East, or West, it is not in our blood to lay down our lives without a fight!” Again the cries of their people fill the icy air answering his call. He draws Lightbringer from its sheath at his back, lifting it high above his head. “We will end this long night! Death will flee before us! Winter will find its end and we will have our spring. As will our children and their children after them!” 

His eyes find his wife's, fervent and fiery, her smile severe and sharp as blade as she holds his gaze. “For life!” she cries out over the clamor below them.

Thousands of voices fill the air, swords and spears and shields raised. “For life! For life! For life!”


	18. All You Have is Your Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle for the Dawn with some fluff and smut beforehand to ease the pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I finally did it. This chapter has been dreaded for months, my nasty anxiety telling me I'd never be able to pull it off. It came to the point I had to follow through just to prove to myself I could. NEVER WRITTEN A BATTLE IN MY LIFE! Without the help of my beloved Tarts, especially Ashleyfanfic, Sparkles59, and Meisiesmut I never would've finished, and you wouldn't have what I hope is an amazing chapter. They poked and prodded me, listened to my endless whining, and of course encouraged me every step of the way. All three also beta-ed for me throughout this grueling endeavor. Thank you, my loves! You all mean the world to me! Can't forget the rest of my tarts, AC, Jaq, and Frost. They too, put up with my crap and continued to be wonderful friends through it all.
> 
> Love you ladies to the moon and back!!

High above the river of marching men and lumbering wagons the air is so chill it cuts like knives into their exposed skin. They’d surely be no more than frozen corpses if not for their fiery mounts beneath them. Dany was correct, the armor acts much like an oven, holding in the heat from their own bodies and the dragon’s. Jon will be leaving off a layer or two tomorrow. Being encased in sweat soaked wool all day is far from pleasant.

 

The hours have crawled by as they’ve watched, circling like falcons hunting for prey, searching for the sight of anything that would harm their people, but there's been nothing. Only miles and miles of snow lying beneath a sky the color of drab weathered stone. 

 

He’s exhausted. Despite Rhaegal's heat, his every bone, muscle, and joint is screaming for relief after hours and hours of the thrumming tension that has kept his body as tight as a bow string. It's a thousand wonders he hasn't simply slipped off and fell to his death. But thoughts of his wife flying to save his miserable arse beyond the Wall have kept him upright and firmly seated. 

 

The sun is quickly creeping away behind gauzy clouds, like some frightened child, meaning night is coming to swallow them in its abyss. 

 

They’ve gone far enough today. It's time to make camp.

  
  


\---

  
  


A few of the Dothraki women had joined the armies to help serve their Khaleesi and Khal’s needs. They’re still hovering about the tent, fluffing furs and checking the braziers, after bringing food and filling the copper tub with steaming water. Daenerys leaves them to their work until one begins cooing at her husband as she steps up to help remove his armor. The look of genuine distress on Jon's face as he backs away from the woman has Dany swallowing down a giggle and dismissing them quickly.

 

More than ready to face a legion of ice demons, yet he shys away from a strange woman. Such a tangle of intrepidness and integrity he is, and all of it coming from such a pure heart.

 

“Thank you,” he says, blowing out a relieved breath as she draws closer. “It’s one thing to have Davos help me, quite another to have a woman do it.”

 

Dany allows herself to laugh softly as she takes over the unfinished job. “Is it alright for  _ this _ woman to do it?” she asks, unbuckling a strap. 

 

He looks over his shoulder at her, his tired hooded eyes growing darker. “Aye,” he whispers, voice hoarse from the cold air he’s breathed all day and perhaps the yelling he did this morning. Either way, the small word sounded like a caress to Dany’s weary soul.

 

Finished with the buckles at his back she moves around to his front taking his arm and loosening the straps of the gauntlet it’s wrapped in. “I wouldn't have let her get past the first layer. You may be their Khal now, but you are mine,” she states defiantly. “Your naked body is for me only.”

 

He ducks his head to catch her eyes. “That's the only way I want it,” he murmurs, a slow grin pulling at one corner of his comely mouth.

 

She stares at him, until the grin fades and hunger burns in his eyes. “I know.” She kisses him, then quickly leaves him wanting as she goes back to her work. 

 

Jon shakes his arm and flexes his fingers once she's freed him from the gauntlet, then holds his other arm up for her, eager for both of them to be unburdened from their steel restraints. “Why did you say I was their Khal?” he asks, doing his best to sound indifferent.

 

“Because you are,” she says simply. “They talk about you often, you know?” 

 

He shifts his weight and swallows deeply, abashed, his confusion showing in a furrowed brow. 

 

She shakes her head at him, smiling, still working straps and buckles. “All good things, my love. They have seen your strength. Know I have chosen you, that my sons have accepted you. Being a king might not have been something you chose, but you truly are good at it. You inspire loyalty just by being yourself.”

 

“I try.”

 

She stops then, focusing on him instead of her task. “That's just the thing, Jon. You don't have to try. It's who you are. Did you not notice them this morning? It wasn't only your men shouting back at you. My people were too. As loudly as they had done for me.”

 

“The Northmen cried for you as well,” he argues.

 

“Some of them, but not all.”

 

“They should have,” he snaps, then shakes his head, a tentative hand reaching up to cover hers. “I am nothing compared to you.” 

 

“What utter nonsense,” she grumbles, spinning around and presenting him her back, hiding her welling eyes. She clears her throat against the cracks filling it. “My turn, and hurry. Our bath is growing cold. I wish to be clean before we get to those filthy things you promised me.”

  
  


\---

  
  


The sweat and cold now washed away, they rest submerged in the luxurious water, the warm and heady scents of Essosi oils wafting around them, both finally beginning to relax from their arduous day. 

 

Sly fingers pinch his side. “Stop brooding.”

 

He jerks away with a laugh, making her slip off his lap. “How’d you know I’m broodin’?”

 

“I can feel it. You’re still tense.” She props her chin on his chest, looking up at him. She loves him this way, all wet, curls hanging heavy down his neck, skin pinked from the heat of the water, eyes dark and lazy. Something twists inside her, begging her to keep them here, to never leave this tub or tent. She smiles, resolved to keep the mood light. “Besides the fate of the world resting on our shoulders, whatever could be bothering you?”

 

A smirk tugs at his full lips, but doesn't reach further as he brushes a wet strand of hair from her face. He sighs, letting his head fall back against the edge of the tub. “I feel a right shit. I'm in a bath, all warm, with my soft, naked wife layin’ over me while everyone else is out there freezin’ their stones off,  _ their _ women miles away.”

 

Damn him and that noble heart of his she loves so dearly. “You suffered many a night just like that, did you not?”

 

“Aye, suppose I did.”

 

She slides back over his body, settling firmly on his lap, thighs pressed tight to his slim hips, her cunt seated against his straining cock. He’s been ready for her since the moment the first of their armor fell away. His hands go to her arse, griping greedy handfuls as he lets out a low groan and grinds her against him. She suppresses a shiver. “We lit as many fires as we could,” she whispers against his neck where she’s placing slow kisses. “Made sure they were all fed, had furs to sleep in, tents to keep the worst of the cold away.” Her teeth drag over his earlobe and she delights in his shudder. “And all before we took our own comfort.” Grasping his face in her hands, her thumbs wipe away the few lines of worry left around his eyes. “We’re good to our people, much better than most. Stop fretting and love me while you can, Husband.”

 

Jon wastes no time doing as she wishes, his mouth and hands taking from her as she’s longed for all day.

 

But then the whip of leather and wind invade their pleasures, his sister barging in, unannounced, flinging the flaps of the tent wide, the gust of frosty air that follows her sending a chill across their exposed skin. 

 

“You’re pregnant,” she proclaims, face alight.

 

“Fookin’ hells, Arya!” Jon pulls Dany against his chest to hide them both, throwing a chunk of soap at her. “Get out of here!”

 

She dodges it with little effort, her smile not faltering. “You promised me we’d talk. So talk. Was that what your Wildling friend figured out before we left?” she asks him, before turning narrowed eyes on Daenerys. “And all that yelling about life to bolster everyone? It was because you're pregnant, wasn't it?”

 

Dany places her hand over Jon’s mouth before he can do anymore shouting. She sits up, unconcerned with her nudity and regards Arya with the passive observation of a queen. “Yes, Arya. I’m pregnant.”

 

The enigmatic girl does a slight victory jump before quickly schooling her features once more. “Why didn't you tell us? Don't you think that's something we all should know?”

 

Some of their precious hot water sloshes over the edge of the tub when Jon jerks underneath Dany at his sister's challenging tone. With a cut of her eyes and shake of her head, he settles again, his whiskers prickling her fingers as he gripes behind them. 

 

“It’s no one's business but ours actually,” Daenerys answers. “If you think I would have allowed any of you to leave me behind, you are sorely mistaken. Of all people, I would’ve thought  _ you _ would understand that.”

 

“Well, of course not,” Arya retreats, “but still.”

 

Daenerys raises an eyebrow at her. “Still what?”

 

What little patience he had gone, Jon pulls Dany’s hand away from his mouth, scowling fiercely. “Still nothin’. We’ll discuss it  _ later.  _ Now go away. And Gendry!” he yells out.

 

“Yes, Your Grace?” comes a meek reply filtering through the tent flaps.

 

Pinning her lips between her teeth, Daenerys smothers her second giggle of the night.

 

“If you even think of looking in this tent when she walks out, I’ll run you through,” Jon threatens.

 

“Of course not, Your Grace.”

 

With a squinty-eyed snarl, Arya storms out in a huff, giving them a rarely seen glimpse of the young woman that hides beneath the assassin.

 

“Told you I should've locked her up,” her husband grumps.

 

Dany rubs a soothing hand over his chest, before standing up, her hand held out for him to take. “She's happy for us, and worried. Just as we are.”

 

Swatting her hand away he places his on her hips and pulls her closer. Her legs spread enough now he can see her cunt glistening with more than their bath water. Unable to help himself he leans forward and runs his tongue through her sweetness, drawing a gasp from her open mouth.

 

“Jon.”

 

“I’ll never tire of the taste of you,” he hums before taking another swipe at her, this time in a slow drag.

 

“Gods, I hope not.” Her fingers are buried in his damp midnight curls now, legs already traitorous and trembling. “Let's go to the furs, love,” she begs, breath catching as his lips seal around her nub, his clever tongue stealing the air from her lungs. Air that is chilling her wet skin, adding a delicious contrast to the flood of warmth he’s creating within her.

 

He releases her with slight pop, one hand tightening its grip upon her arse to keep her still and standing, the other sliding up an inner thigh. “No, we’re stayin’ here til I’m done,” he rumbles, two fingers delving into her slick folds, then further still to sheath themselves inside her swollen walls.

 

She quivers this time, her hands tightening in his hair as his mouth finds her again. He teases her mercilessly, tongue drawing lazy circles around her nub, then flicking lightly, up and down, fingers slow and smooth as they plunder. Helpless, Dany gives into the indulgence, her body taking over, hips rising, tilting to ease his path, hands pressing his talented mouth closer. 

 

Jon quickly reads her cues and increases his attentions, devouring her like a wolf with a fresh kill; fingers, lips, and tongue drawing out the shameless wanton she keeps hidden so well within the queen. Watching her walls fall away and leave the true Daenerys exposed stirs his blood like nothing else. In his hands and beneath his touch her countless masks disappear to reveal the goddess that is his and his alone.

 

Soon her mewls turn into a deep keening wail and he must place a hand against her chest to keep her from falling over him as she shatters from within, her cunt pulsing around his fingers, her delicious juices filling his mouth. He soothes her back to the here and now with soft licks and gentle strokes, then eases her down into the bath with him once more. 

 

She collapses into his arms with a sated sigh. “You are far too good at that, you beast. I’m utterly defenseless when you pull your tricks.”

 

He smiles into her hair, pressing a kiss against it and pulls her tighter into his chest. “No tricks, my love. Just a need to serve my queen as she deserves.”

 

“Well, I’m grateful for you needs. Now I have some of my own to tend to.”

 

“Greedy.”

 

“For you? Always.”

 

She rises from the tub and steps out, water running golden rivulets down her moonglow skin. Walking to the furs she drops to her knees and slowly bends over, her beautiful arse lifted towards him, and that sweet, pink cunt open and ready to take his eager cock.

 

Jon is on his feet and a step away before she's taken a breath. “Are you sure?” He’s captivated by the sight of her, but not enough to forget he’s never taken her this way for a reason.

 

While he’s always imagined it, wanted it, he’s sensed a reluctance in her he dare not push against. It doesn't take a learned man to think of how her first husband must have handled her. He saw enough evidence on Dragonstone, and even here amidst the cold lands of Westeros the Dothraki have no concern to hide their relations. He’s seen more than a few taking their women as rough and careless as any animal. He has no desire to use her that way. 

 

“I wouldn't have done it if I wasn't sure. Take me, Jon. Before long this will be the only way you can. Best practice,” she teases him with a wink and wiggle.

 

Felled by the sensual plenty before him he drops to his knees behind her, hands going straight to her lovely arse, caressing the soft skin, memories of it glowing with a rosy blush flashing into his mind. He’s landed a quick blow before the thought barely registers, worry of someone overhearing the crack, or her responding moan ripped away with the howling wind outside. Her cunt is already blooming red and ripe after his wolfish ministrations earlier so he grasps his cock, sliding the plump head through her sopping folds causing both of them to shiver and shake. They moan together as he slowly slides in, splitting her open. He’s so hard and her channel so tight, it nearly hurts. 

 

Dany turns to watch, needing to see him, but quickly fears the sight may undo her. Black curls clinging about his handsome face, pale skin, shining and taut over his straining muscles, full pink lips parted as he pants, and his eyes… They burn with a dark fire as he watches himself disappear into her greedy cunt.

 

“Fookin’ hells,” he grunts, long sooty lashes brushing his cheeks as he finally bottoms out against her aching womb.

 

She gasps, head falling to the furs below, a deep shudder running through her as she revels in his pleasure and her own. He slides out, then sinks himself deep again, then again, strokes slow and fluid, each exquisite inch felt by the other. The past slides away, all thoughts of pain and hurt replaced by Jon and his unending love for her. To submit to him is as easy as breathing as he draws her need out of her by inches, the heat and aches filling all her senses like an intoxicating wine, letting her wander on the plateau for an age.

 

Then suddenly he slams into her and she cries out from being filled so quickly, so fucking completely, but nothing has ever felt better. His grip is unyielding on her hips as he drives into her over and over. There’ll be bruises, but she doesn’t care. He’s hitting that perfect spot with every stroke. Not slowing down at her cry, he pulls her over him faster and harder. Her head thrashes side to side with the intensity of it all, the line between pleasure and pain blurring more than it ever has. It needs to stop, but she never wants it to, and soon she fractures into a thousand riotous sparks, screaming out his name.   
  


His moans join her whimpering as he lays himself over her, tucking his face into her neck and curling his back, his hips pressed tighter against her as his strokes become deeper and more insistent. Dany tilts her own, allowing him to bottom out, squeezing her walls to massage him in time with his strokes.   
  


“Fook, Dany. Yes,” he pants, one hand rubbing her breast, his soft lips, teeth, and prickly beard mouthing at her shoulder. Then it’s all incoherent groans and grunts as he follows her over the cliff’s edge, his hips grinding into her in short, hard bursts.   
  


A few more shudders and he wraps his arms around her and rolls them onto the furs. Dany turns over, settling into the shelter of his spent body, peppering kisses across his warm neck and chest while she brushes his damp hair away from his flushed face.

 

Once he catches his breath and finally comes back to himself, his rough hands map her curves, languid kisses placed wherever he can reach as he whispers sweet nonsense. 

 

War is the furthest thing from their minds as they drift into a restful sleep.   
  


  
\---

  
  


Death finds them three days later on the rolling snow covered moors north west of White Harbor. 

 

He feels it before any eyes can see it. Tormund and the other Free Folk too, their wide eyes searching out his through the throng of bodies and horses. It's a cold so cruel it’s a thousand shards of ice burying themselves within his bones, freezing him from the inside out. Death is coming. 

 

A glacial pang of fear rips through him, his eyes immediately scanning the skies for his wife and her children circling far above them. _There, to the west, flying in fast._ _Fuck!_ He knew better than to let her go alone this far into their march, but she insisted he take a few hours with their men to keep them bolstered. They’d been taking turns the last few days as hopes and spirits lagged.

 

_ Please gods. Please. Keep her safe. _

 

His eyes continue their search for another and his dragon slave, but he's nowhere to be seen, hidden no doubt by the storm that surrounds and heralds the dead. The sun, now sliding to the west is veiled behind the dark threatening mist, glowing the sullen grey of a frigid dusk. In the hearts of those who’ve dared to brave it, it feels like the end of all light.

 

For down from the hills on every side pour wights innumerable. The grey blue frost of the bitter cold surrounding them chokes the air, stealing the breath from living lungs. They can barely see their enemy, but the ear splitting screeches layered underneath the guttural groans that rise from the vast rushing horde, rips terror down the spines of those who face them. It’s the death rattle of a hundred thousand strong army of the dead intent on swelling their ranks.

 

Jon’s mount dances beneath him in terror along with every other horse upon the field. He struggles to keep his seat as he grasps the hilt of Lightbringer and draws it from its sheath. The flames that dance along the blade seem to glow bright as the sun, spreading light over those closest to him. One pale star against the coming night. Ahead of him Beric’s own flaming sword alights, another beacon of hope. 

 

“For life!” he bellows above the chaos. 

 

While not the resounding cry that answered him at Winterfell, his heart surges at the echoing call of his troops as they move to action after days of strung out nerves.

 

No better than proffered bait, their men stand strong. Taking the lead as planned–Jorah, Jaime, Bronn, Beric, a few Unsullied and Dothraki create a front line, their gleaming Valyrian swords and bristling spears of glinting dragonglass held aloft and at the ready.

 

“Archers!” The next line of their defense rushes forward at Jon’s command, bows already drawn. “Knock!” Torch runners break through the lines, lighting arrows with practiced speed despite the snow and their tired frozen bodies. He waits one breath, then two while the dead rush closer, then he can wait no longer. “Draw! Loose!” 

 

All sounds are lost in the whistle of air caused by the flight of a thousand flaming arrows humming over their heads. Nerves spread parchment thin in the eerie quiet, all of them quaking and quivering like destriers, high strung and ready to bolt. But the arrows find their marks and the front line of their enemy breaks like a dam of river reeds, bent and broken.

 

“Again!” he bellows, the decaying mob’s screeches sending a tremor through his spine as their putrid stench finally reaches them through the storm, churning his stomach. His mount snorts and screams, stamping beneath him, then rearing up, desperate to flee. As he wrangles him into control once more a second round of arrows arc through the mist and hit their targets, then a third.

 

Whether from the fire or tips of dragonglass the wights fall by the hundreds, but no relief can be found as thousands more take their place, a crazed and vicious swarm flowing towards them.

 

Many begin to flee, their terror too much to hold them firm against the demented charge. Then a deafening shriek tears through the skies above, freezing all in their tracks as the ground trembles beneath their feet. Jon spins around, horror struck as the penalty for their hostilities strikes like a thunderbolt from heaven, a blast of blue fire pouring from her once majestic child, scouring the earth, all those who stood upon it turned to nothing more than vapor and wind before his eyes.

 

Her sons’ cries peal through Dany's brain like a muffled bell as she watches what is left of Viserion destroy the living below. Within her chest her heart feels thin and weak, as though it's been tucked away in some dark place, unused and forgotten.  _ My sweet son, what has he done to you? _ Golden no more, his scales hang dull and grey from his bones, wings once strong and powerful are now riddled with rips and tears, the pale light of the sun filtering through. And his eyes… Glowing the same unearthly blue as the fire that streams from his gaping jaws. They hold no life _.  _ They are _ … His eyes.  _

 

He smiles at her as they hover above the reign of terror unfolding beneath them. A monster determined to bring death to them all and using her son to do it.

 

_ Not this day. _

 

“Dracarys.” 

 

Drogon releases his fury, Rhaegal doing the same, and the air around her crashes and heaves like a roaring ocean amidst a terrible storm. A storm made of ice and fire. Viserion has struck too, his unearthly blue flame colliding with scorching orange. They’re blasted with scalding steam, blinded, but unharmed until hailstones the size of boulders, large and small begin to strike. 

 

Daenerys ducks in time to save her head from being taken from her shoulders, the ping and clash of dozens more pelting and pummeling her armor.

 

Her living sons shriek in alarm, their cries and fear near splitting her skull. Both retreat, throwing their enormous bodies backwards, the whip of their wings thunderous as they beat the sky to climb away from their demonic foe. If not for the crude saddle her husband insisted upon, Daenerys would surely be falling to her death, instead she hangs from her strapped thighs, and the death grip of one hand, her body thrown back and flapping against Drogon’s scales like a cut sail. Finally he rights himself and she's able to do the same. Rhaegal still climbs to their left. 

 

Below, the creature that was once her son violently shakes his head, his screaming never ceasing as he too recovers from the savage attack. His rider clings, seemingly unharmed, glaring eyes fixated upon her, filled with the same shocking evil that has haunted her dreams since her journey beyond the Wall.

 

They must stay above him, pluck him from his seat, then roast and devour him like a boar and this will all be over. 

 

Under a raining shower of hail, Jon is trapped better than any animal in a steel cage, his stomach twisted, lungs gasping for air that refuses to come, his heart a throbbing knot behind his ribs. The war around him is forgotten, the screams not reaching his ears, eyes not seeing the carnage of steel slicing flesh and rotted bones, only the vision of his tiny wife strapped atop one beast fleeing from another who’s too unholy to be imagined. 

 

First Rhaegal’s and then Drogon’s massives shadows flash over, diving, then climbing again, throwing him into darkness, their fury felt in every bone as their roars shatter the air. But disaster follows them through the gloom, a ghostly figure, drawing closer and closer. The fear claws at Jon’s throat as he watches, useless and wasted below them, until he’s nearly knocked off his horse by a pack of wights. 

With one downward swing of Lightbringer he dispatches three, managing to keep his seat to split them in half, the rest turned to carrion with quick thrusts and stabs.   
  
Tormund and the Free Folk fight to his left, the mass of bones and rotted skin at their feet growing, only a few fur covered bodies lay burning amongst them. He turns his mount around to find Arya and Gendry waging their own war not far away. His sister moves through the wights like a dancer, her Valyrian dagger flashing in and out of dead flesh like lightning as she spins and twists so gracefully he doesn't have a chance to fear for her. Gendry is more of a raging bull, his huge hammer destroying all it comes in contact with, leaving showers of carcasses to fall in its wake. Ghost and Nymeria and her pack work effortlessly through the swarm of wights surrounding them, teeth ripping and tearing through limbs, necks, and jaws, keeping the numbers down enough so the pair isn’t overwhelmed.

 

He turns, the screams of the Dothraki wrenching his attention towards the north only for a familiar voice to scream out his name and send a paralyzing jolt through him before jerking him around again.

 

His sister, still fighting and running towards him continues to scream, “Jon! Get on that bloody dragon! Fucking now!”

 

She isn't watching and the blood draws from Jon’s limbs, swelling his heart, forcing it into his throat. A wight is charging towards her back, battle-axe held high and ready to strike. It's too late, he's too far away. He slams his heels into his mount’s side with vicious force still knowing he won't reach her in time, knowing he’ll see his sister fall just as Rickon did. That another piece of his soul will be lost. He races towards her anyway, his roar strangled and choked, Lightbringer swinging in a great arc at his side, all in its path sliced and severed. 

 

He jerks the reigns readying to jump, his horse plowing furrows as it slides to a stop with a maddened scream. Mud, snow, and decay fly up, coating Jon in muck as he watches a Valyrian longsword plunge through the wight’s chest a second before its axe could fall through his sister's skull. 

 

He spits the rancid mire from his mouth, wiping at his stinging eyes to see Jaime Lannister appear where the wight had stood, his own eyes wild as he nods at a stunned Arya, then spins to take down another of the dead.

 

Arya faces Jon again, her expression filled with grim recognition. “Go! You have to kill him. There's no other way. Go! Go now!”

 

His blood still churning and boiling from fear and relief, a great anger overtakes him, like a beast rising within, pacing behind a cage of ribs and sinew, claws clicking, foam dripping from snarling jaws. He points the tip of Lightbringer at Arya. “Don't you fooking die!” he bellows then whips his horse around, spurring him south with another violent kick of his heels.

 

“You better not either!” he hears her scream as he races away from the battle towards an open field hacking the dead as he goes. He prays  beyond hope Rhaegal can feel him calling through their shared rage. The faint tether he’s built between them is frail and fragile, shaky at best. The green is used to having his own head, quiet content to follow his mother and brother and ignore Jon's lead.

 

But a furious rumble rolls through the sky above, an answer to his desperate plea. With a quick glance overhead, Jon’s grateful shout dies on the wind. Rhaegal is closing on him fast, but his mother and brother are being hounded relentlessly by a demon far above, brilliant blue and orange bursts of fire lighting an ebbing sky filled with horrible screeches and screams.

 

He slows his horse enough to jump from the saddle, tucking his body and rolling through the wet snow, his terrified mount galloping away behind him. He’s on his feet in an instant, running for his sword having dropped it to keep the lethal blade far from his person. Rhaegal circles tightly above him then lands with a crashing thud, Jon watching the skies as his fierce queen takes on the devil.

 

“Dracarys!” Daenerys shouts again, cleaved to her son's back like a second skin as he sends a molten blast into one of Viserion's disintegrating wings, quickly twisting and diving to avoid his brother's wicked talons. They're burning away slowly despite his icy form. If they can just keep hitting them, he’ll fall from...

 

Their foe has turned his attention elsewhere, swooping away, then down towards the snowy ground. That's when she sees his prey. Rhaegal, wrathful and wild as he crawls over the snow, a great winged snake, and the small black figure running to meet him, a flaming sword cutting through the bitter cold beside him.

 

_ Jon, no! Run!  _

 

“ _ Fly, my love, fly!  _ We mustn't let him close to them!” she begs Drogon, her terror a scar ripped opened in her soul, weeping and gnashing. Like a crow whose wings cut through the air, black as night, rustling as it readies to land on a gravestone.  _ “Ruin and grief, grief and ruin,” _ it squawks.

 

_ No! She will not be afraid.  _

 

They dive, a living bolt shot from a scorpion, murderous and vengeful, their fiery blood boiling infernos within their veins. With the Night King targeted on Jon, they gain on them quickly. The moment he's close enough Drogon takes a savage bite of Viserion's tail, slinging his smaller form up and away from Jon and his protective fire-breathing son. A torrent of blue flame misses them by only inches, violent steam, ice, and flame erupting and hiding them from view as Rhaegal fires back. Time stops, her heart and breath with it, until the mist fades and she sees Jon dart from beneath Rhaegal's wing and scramble onto his back.     
  
“ _ Sōves!”  _ Jon shouts, not bothering to strap himself to the saddle, only gripping the dragon’s spikes as he launches into the sky. His regret is immediate. He slips from the seat, like butter from a knife, fingers grasping and clawing at scale and leather. His hand catches on the chain of Rhaegal's armor, leaving him dangling like a fish on a hook.

 

_ Gods bless you, Gendry. _

 

Finally, Rhaegal ceases his climb, sweeping left, then right before leveling off enough Jon can claw his way back to the saddle. He loops a strap around his wrist, all he has time for as Rhaegal joins the battle once more, his fury too rabid to contain.    
  
The three brothers wage war in the darkening skies, gaping jaws spewing flames, talons and teeth ripping and tearing while their riders cling with all their strength, enduring bone jarring hits, their bodies whipped brutally about as the dragons twist and turn, fighting for any advantage.

 

After one such dizzying attack, Jon and Dany sit in shock, the steaming mists clearing, their vision filled with Viserion’s retreating form, flying south and fading fast into the dimness. Dany spares Jon only a fleeting glance, pointing towards the ground, before tucking herself tight to Drogon's back as he dives after them, his enormous wings tearing through the sky. 

 

Rhaegal screeches underneath him, slinging his head and throwing out his wings. Jon's certain it's in protest to a command he did not give. She's ordered them both to stay behind. He knew the wrath over her child's suffering could become too strong to control, might override her rational thought.  _ Feared it, and now... _

 

The air around him quiet once more, the sounds of dying men reach his ears. His eyes drop to the battle below. Fallen bodies lay in drifts and heaps across the snow, like great piles of scarlet and blackened roses against a sheet of white. The living are still battling fiercely with the dead, no time to burn their lost if they want to live. 

 

_ They'll rise and make dead of them all.  _

 

A helplessness invades Jon, a cold sickening of the heart, a stone in his festering gut. He cannot be two places at once. There's no hope to save them all, but he can try.

 

“ _ Dive, my friend,”  _ he whispers to Rhaegal. _ “ _ We must help them first, then we’ll follow. I swear it.”

 

The green, as eager as Jon to be chasing after their queen, dives, wings tucked, his slithering neck and tail steering them through the bitter winds to the ground below. 

 

With practiced precision, Jon leans back moments before they reach the field and Rhaegal's wings spread wide, catching the air and slowing them. “Dracarys.” Rhaegal unleashes his vehemence upon the dead in a storm of devouring flame and smoke black as pitch. Jon tucks himself tight to his scaley hide, the ash and embers swirling within the tremendous heat surrounding him almost more than he can withstand. 

 

In and out he’s plunged, from sweltering wave to biting cold and back again as Rhaegal bathes the battlefield in flame. Then he sees them, two swarms of men, one flowing in from the southwest, another from the southeast. And by the gods these are not more dead men, but living. Crannogmen and soldiers from White Harbor come to fight for dawn by the thousands.

 

The numbers at last in their favor, he doesn't spare another moment. “ _ Go _ , Rhaegal. Let's find them!” 

 

With a thunderous roar, the green turns south, rushing through smoke and mist to search out his mother. Jon's heart throbs painfully to the pounding beat of Rhaegal's wings.

 

They could be anywhere by now, any direction. There's no orange or blue flashes filling the gloom to light the way, no bellowing rage shaking the skies. But his heart leaves no doubt. It seems to be drawing him towards her, his chest feeling as if some great ocean's tide is dragging it through his ribs, frantic and furious to bring him to her side.

 

And Bran’s visions. 

 

_ They're headed to The Gods Eye. _

 

They fly swift as the northern storm winds, past Moat Cailin and the edges of The Neck, then over the icy waters of The Bite. There Jon reluctantly slows Rhaegal, a fleet of ships catching his eye, their black sails all emblazoned with red flaming hearts or golden krakens. He urges Rhaegal down, sweeping as close as he dares without risking their lives. Shouts and raised fists greet them from the decks below instead of a volley of arrows.  _ Not enemies, then? _ With another sweep, the sight of three he thought he'd never see again confirms it.

 

_ Theon, Yara, and Melisandre.  _

 

He isn't sure how to feels about seeing the priestess again, but there's no time to consider it, let alone stop to carry through a sentence.

 

Rhaegal rumbles his approval as Jon gives him his head once more. Soon the mountains of The Eyrie appear, but still no sign of either dragon, nor their riders, not until they pass over The Ruby Ford where his father lost his own battle. The Trident lies just ahead, and further still, through the fog and shadows he sees the glow, first a brilliant unnatural blue, then burning red. 

 

Rhaegal cries out, suddenly lunging forward, his leathern wings crackling like thunder as they thrash against the wind, pushing them to a frightening speed. 

 

An unkindness of ravens suddenly appears around them. They swim through the flood of air, hundreds of tiny ships tossed about on windswept seas. Their shiny black button eyes have gone white as snow, heads twitching and turning to see all there is to see.

 

_ Bran. _

 

 _“Help_ _us brother_ , _”_ Jon throws his thoughts towards them, desperate for any aid he can provide. 

 

As one they cry out to him then cut through the air, leading the way towards the ominous ruins of Harrenhal just coming into view, a mountain of charcoal growing along the horizon. Rhaegal follows without prodding and Jon allows one small spark of hope to light his heart.

  
They chased him for hours through the clouds and gloom, never able to draw closer, Viserion's speed queer and unnatural even for a dragon. In truth, Daenerys allowed the distance, careful to never lose sight of them, but knowing in her heart she and Drogon were not meant to battle them alone. 

 

_ Together. They would do it together.  _

 

Their people needed Jon to stay behind, but it did not stop her ceaseless prayers, her desperate calls to the void for him to return to her side. 

 

But he isn't here and the demon has finally stopped his fleeing. He’s perched atop the melted stones of Harrenhal, a hellish wraith upon his fellbeast. Drogon seethes beneath her, his fire and fury raging, determined to destroy the cursed devils once and for all. 

 

“ _ Wait, my son. Not yet,”  _ she murmurs in hopes of soothing his wrath, while urging him up to circle their prey. Something isn't right.

 

Instead of watching them with his heinous eyes, he only stares south, over the waters of The Gods Eye to what's hidden beyond, ignoring the threat they pose. Perhaps he's feigning his seeming disregard, to lure her closer, a spider teasing a fly to its web. Yet something whispers within her mind that isn't it at all. 

 

Bran was right, whatever it is this foul creature wants, it lies somewhere upon that mystic Isle. 

 

_ Death,  _ Elric said. He only wants death. 

 

He shall have it, this monster upon the back of the child she loved, the child he _stole_ _and enslaved_. The one who does not know another monster has also come for death.  

 

She leans over Drogon's neck, her own fire boiling through her as great as his.  _ “Destroy him.” _

 

They find them north of Harrenhall, history determined to repeat itself. But this is no dance the likes of which Jon has ever seen. The beasts devour one another, a demented knot of flame and flesh, gnashing teeth and lethal talons spinning in the skies. 

 

With a grieved wail, Rhaegal circles them, calling out to his brother, the battle too frenzied to enter, leaving them helpless spectators. 

 

Refusing to watch his wife be ripped apart before his eyes, Jon orders the overwrought dragon into the fray. They get lucky, Rhaegal snatching Viserion's tail and hauling him back, allowing Drogon a moment to right himself. Jon doesn't breathe again until he sees her white braid whipping in the wind, Drogon already coming in for another pass. 

 

He releases a gluttonous stream of fire across Viserion's wings, pulling up and around as Viserion twists away with a tormented scream. 

 

Rhaegal exploits his moment of distraction, rearing back and throwing out his legs just catching one of Viserion's burning wings in his talons. His weakened flesh rips and tears, but he whips his head up and around in retaliation, his vicious jaws sinking onto the base of Rhaegal’s neck, his talons sending ear-splitting screeches to blend with Rhaegal's shriek of pain as they grind against his armor, grasping for purchase. 

 

A stream of roasting fire engulfs Viseron’s face, Drogon attacking him from above. He releases Rhaegal from his jaws and Jon's body locks down like a vice as Rhaegal throws himself away from the threat, twisting and flipping in panic, a hooked fish in the sky, scarlet blood flowing from his wounds and coating them both.

 

Jon hangs by only a thread, once again bucked from the saddle. “ _ Land, Rhaegal _ !  _ Land!” _ he screams, but nothing gets through to the frantic dragon as he arcs and spirals through the air. At a flash of Viserion hovering beneath them, Jon doesn't give himself time to think, pulling the dragonglass dagger from its sheath and slicing through the leather saddle strap wrapped around his wrist.

 

He falls, eyes closed, waiting for the impact. It comes swift. Despite the yield the dragon’s rotting carcass gives, Jon hits with an excruciating crack that splinters through his body, his vision black and spinning with stars. Knowing there's no time, how quickly he could end this now, he shakes his head to clear the horrible pounding, then rises to his knees, shocked to see the swirling vision of the dragonglass blade still gripped in his fist. 

 

He raises his aching head, waiting for his vision to clear. The Night King sits in front of him, still as stone while ravens wheel around him, black leaves caught in whirlwind. Viserion's shredded wings somehow beat a slow hum through the air, his body rising and falling like a boat on gentle waves. Her living sons cry out to one another somewhere behind him.  _ Brother helping brother _ . 

 

It’s time. They can end this.

 

Knowing Bran may not be able to hold them for long, but fearing his hammering head and wavering vision will pitch him off his feet, ending any chance they have, Jon drops to his hands, only to bite back a cry of pain and clutch his left arm to his chest in reflex.  _ Broken, no doubt _ . But still he crawls, as quick as his damaged body allows until he's kneeling behind his greatest enemy. 

 

A dozen outcomes flash through his mind as he stares at the back of the demon’s head. All end with his own death. Throw him off and risk losing Bran’s control over him and no certainty the fall would kill him. Even if it did, Jon hasn't a hope of taming the ice dragon they sit upon, he’s too weak to hold on, let alone bring him safely to the ground. He could plunge Lightbringer through his back, if he could stand long enough, shattering the monster into a thousand shards of ice, but Viserion would collapse into a bag of bones beneath Jon and they’d both plummet to the earth below. 

 

He has to weaken him enough to give Bran time to get them to the ground where Jon can end him. It's his only hope of keeping his promise.

 

Her beautiful face suddenly floats before him, eyes shining bright violets, voice sweet honey slipping through his soul as she lays naked in his arms. _ “You will not die, my love. I forbid it. You will fight, until you can fight no more, but you will survive. Promise me.” _

 

Clinging to the only hope he has, Jon rises up, the glinting dragonglass blade brandished over his head

 

_ Please _ ,  _ brother. Get us to the ground. _

 

With a raged filled roar he buries the dagger into the Night King's neck. An ear-shattering scream pierces his skull, all other sound ripped away. He’s thrown backwards, a hammer of icy stone slamming into his face. Then he's in the air, certain death rising up to swallow him.

 

_ I'm sorry, Dany. I'm so sorry. _

 

A thunderous explosion crashes across the heavens, every bone trembling within her as Daenerys watches her lost son falling from the sky once more. His slayer falls with him, and another.

 

The unmistakable figure seems to hang within the grey sky, lifeless, body curved, arms and legs raised and pointing towards the heavens. Then the ground begins to rush up to take him and Dany’s soul is wrung with a terror so great it freezes her blood.

 

_ Jon.  _

 

_ “Go, my son! Go!” _

 

With the ravens he waits for the cold earth’s embrace. Their inky wings are splayed this way and that, feathers fluttering, yet they do not fly. Their eyes are no longer white, once again shiny black beads, but he knows they cannot see. 

 

Memories flood his mind. A little brother who looked so like Robb. An easy smile. The stubborn determination to ride and shoot as well as his big brothers and sister. The day he fell and they all feared him dead. He kissed his hair as she glared at him with hate. And he told him goodbye again not so long ago. 

 

_ We all have our parts to play and this is mine. _

 

His body erupts with sudden pain, ripping all thoughts away, a thousand searing spikes impaling him. Roars of agony fill his ears, a distant scream as well, but none belong to him. There's no air within his lungs. He cannot make a sound. His vision swims, black, then white, and black again. No. Green. A green so dark it only seems black. It traps him, an enormous claw, pinning him to the scalding heat at his back and he knows no more.

 

Dany struggles to her feet, wobbly as a newborn foal in the thick snow she landed in. Her hands fall to her waist without thought, mind searching for telltale pains. None registering, she tears off her gloves and closes her eyes, fingers slipping further down her body and between her thighs to be certain. Relief floods through her as she holds them up, trembling, to see them free of the slick dark blood she feared would be there.

 

Drogon calls her with a chuffing whine, spinning her round and it's only then she notices the dangerous throbbing in her head, the ache in every inch of her body. She pushes them aside, rushing towards him, eyes frantically searching him for injuries and the red armor, pale face, and wild curls that landed upon his back just before they crashed to the ground. Rhaegal lays someway behind Drogon, surrounded by bloodstained snow, slowly crawling towards his brother. Sensing her distress, Drogon lays himself flat, stretching out a wing. She scrambles up, heart in her throat.

 

_ He’s not dead, he’s not dead. We saved him. We caught him in time.  _

 

Then she sees him, lifeless limbs and a ghostly white face streaked with blood. “Jon!” 

 

Drogon's back seems to lengthen and stretch, pulling Jon further away with every forward step she takes. She falls, tripping on sharp spikes and landing with a cry, then she’s scrambling on hands and knees, only to pull up short when she finally reaches him. 

 

He’s so still, the blood so frighteningly bright against his pale skin. She cannot see his chest rising and falling, his armor hiding it from her. 

 

_ Please gods, no. Please!  _

 

Fear nearly choking her, she leans over him, trembling fingers at his neck, face turned to his.  A strangled cry rushes up her throat. It’s faint, but it's there, the slight puffs of air against her frozen cheek, the gentle thump beneath her fingertips. She sobs then, relief beginning to race through her veins like a triumphing fire.

 

Pulling back she takes in his battered face once more, gingerly wiping at the blood covering his ashened skin. “Jon, my love, please!” she begs, not caring to swallow back her weeping. “Open your eyes. You will not leave me, you promised!”

 

Drogon is the only one to respond, a dangerous deep growl vibrating through her. She tears her eyes away from her husband to find the Night King stalking towards them, blue eyes glowing through the grey dusk. A brilliant rage burning brighter than the sun rises within Daenerys. He will take no more life this day. Or ever again.

 

Not willing to risk injuring Jon further by pulling Lightbringer from his back, her daggers are ripped from their sheaths as she rises, eyes focused on the creature coming for her. 

 

Drogon again drops a shoulder and Daenerys descends. “Dracarys,” she murmurs to her son, then walks into his flames. 

 

A tremendous roar wakes Jon, rattling his bones like rocks in a cup as it drums through his armor. He rolls down steaming scales, falling to the ground, stumbling, then all at once, wrestling furiously at breath like a wolf snatching meat, all air having abandoned him. 

 

He lives, but is weak as a babe, a shrunk cedar white with hoar-frost, and the pain... Gods, it lances through him like burning arrows, igniting every nerve with agony. He tries to get up, but his head spins wickedly within his skull and he empties the megar contents of his stomach into the snow with punishing heaves.

 

Drogon roars again, the unmistakable sound of his fire blasting from his jaws filling the air as Jon tries to breathe. Somewhere close he hears Rhaegal's answering bellow. It's broken and strained. 

 

_ Viserion. His jaws embedded Rhaegal's neck. His blade buried in the Night King's neck. The explosion. Falling. Dany! _

 

His soul compresses into a single agonizing prayer;  _ please don't let me be too late. _

 

He forces himself to his knees. The pain will have to wait. He has to find her. “Dany.” 

 

No answer follows his whispered plea. He tries again, eyes scanning the snow for her dark armor. She's nowhere. Only the black spots of dead ravens dot the ground, and Drogon and Rhaegal spewing flames, at what he cannot see. The plumes of fire never cease.   
  


_ “Drogon, stop,” _ he gasps, nowhere near loud enough for him to hear. He draws Lightbringer from its scabbard and the sword falls at his feet, his arm too weak to hold it. He bends to retrieve it only to sink to his knees, every breath and pulse of blood torture. But he must get up.  _ He must. _

 

Grasping the sword again he uses it as a crutch, pulling himself to his feet once more. Staggering closer to Drogon's head, he falls into the dragon’s side with a anguished groan.  _ “Stop, Drogon. Stop!”  _

 

His begging continues to be ignored and it's then he knows. She's within those flames. Fighting that demon, all on her own. 

 

“Daenerys!”

 

He stalks towards her through the blazing fire, a blue spector in the light. He burns, flames running along his icy skin, but they do not stop him anymore than they do her. She knows the hope of winning this fight is as thin as the dagger’s blades gripped within her hands, but she must try. For her child, for Jon, their family, and all the living. 

 

She doesn't wait for him to reach her, charging forward only to drop, then roll, landing in a crouch at his feet as Arya taught her. The dragonglass enters his thigh, merely a distraction as she propels herself up and buries the Valyrian steel into his chest, begging all the gods she hit her mark.

 

But he does not shatter like a crystal vase dashed upon the stones, only stares at her, a hand, icily cold and clammy as death brought forward and wrapped around her throat. 

 

For the first time in her life Daenerys Targaryen knows the pain of burning. 

 

Jon’s anguished screams finally seem to reach her son's ears, the ravenous wall of flame suddenly gone, leaving behind scorched earth and a scene made of pure nightmares.

 

The Night King stands before him, a skull shattering shriek ripping from his gaping mouth as flames lick up his body. Thick black sludge oozes from the three daggers embedded within his flesh, Jon’s in his neck, and what can only be Daenerys’ in his thigh and chest, the last just left of his heart. She dangles from the hand he has wrapped around her throat, her own screams joining his as she struggles to free herself from his grasp, a frightening blue scourge smoking and crawling across her pale skin everywhere they touch. 

 

Her screams fade, violet eyes meeting his, filled with love, pleading, and regret, a thousand precious moments passing between them in an instant. 

 

Rage straightens Jon’s broken body, all pain but that in his heart forgotten, Lightbringer now gripped in both hands as he points it menacingly towards his foe ready to rush him. But the howling demon suddenly throws Dany across the blackened ground to land with a sickening thud of snapped bones and bent steel before falling to his knees writhing in pain.

 

Jon only sees his wife lying lifeless upon the smouldering earth, acrid blue smoke wafting from her neck and hands, a thin trail of blood running from her nose and across a pale cheek. 

 

With a fierce broken roar, Jon’s fury explodes. The Night King shatters in a silvery, shimmering shower of ice, Lightbringer still aflame despite the black heart split upon the blade.

  
Jon flings the sword aside, running to her, his agonizing wail creating a mournful song as it mixes with those of her son’s. His feet fail him on the slick blackened mud and he falls, once, then again, what little air left him forced from his lungs. He crawls then, closing the endless space between them. 

 

“Daenerys.” Her name leaves his lips on a tortured gasp, shaking fingers hovering above the icy burns crawling across her skin. “He’s gone. We did it. It's over, you can wake up now, love.”

 

At her silence, his body wracked with pain and fear, Jon wraps trembling arms around her, burying his face into her hair. “Please, Daenerys.” Ash and smoke fill his nose as he sucks in great gaping breaths, each more strangled than the last. “I kept my promise, Dany. You have to keep yours. Keep yours,” he begs.

 

The soft smothered sounds of weeping are the last he knows.    
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I left it there. I am an evil soul. But I do hope by now you all trust me to see our King and Queen through this. I would LOVE to know your thoughts! Please leave me a comment. I feel like I left my soul on this chapter, I need to know it was worth. LOL Love to you all, thank you so much for reading my word making doing <3


	19. No Grave Can Hold My Body Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fate of our King and Queen comes to light, as well as another important tale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Peeks from under my rock and waves timidly*
> 
> I'm so sorry this has taken me so long. I won't bore you with excuses, though I promise they weren't sorry ones, but please take a moment to read below. 
> 
> I’ve taken some liberties with this chapter where magic is concerned, and the lifespans it can allow. We’ve seen from the show that the Night King is certainly ancient, possibly some of the Children of the Forest as well. Melisandre is quite old too. Some statements from the creators and producers I found said centuries old, others said she was ancient. I'm going with the latter. 
> 
> With that said let's move to this. One burning question I think every fan of GoT has had at one point of another is: What does the Night King want? 
> 
> This chapter is my answer to that question. I do not believe in the slightest that this will happen in the show, and certainly not in the books. This is just my own imagination taking over, along with some encouragement from my fifteen year old son who insisted the NK had to have a better purpose than wanting everyone dead because that was just stupid and lazy. Granted he has only seen small bits and pieces of the show, and those he has always make him say; they stole that from Elder Scrolls/Skyrim, lol. Anyway, after a two hour brainstorming session this is what we came up with it. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! And as always, thanks to my Tarts for all their love and support. Ashleyfanfic held my hand through this one, helping me keep the plot holes filled and I love her for it. And last, but certainly not least, I must thank Meisie for her beta work. She keeps me in line even when she's feeling rough. Love you, my Queen! 
> 
> And you too, Drakhus ;)

_A thousand teeth gnashing. Wet snow a quiet bed. Heartbeats slow and sluggish. Hunger gnawing. Days, or hours. Freezing, then thawing. The fire, the ice. Hand in hand, fixed and cold. A deep slumber that creeps and claims. Home. Dark wings circle above. Years, or maybe a week._

 

“Careful with them, but move quickly. There isn't much time.”

 

_Blackness. Red. Greens and browns. The pain is everywhere. Strange voices, soft and deep and numerous. Hands touching. Someone screaming. Dany. The blackness comes again._

 

“Can you heal them?”

 

“If it is the Lord’s will. Now leave us, and let me work.”

 

_All there is is fire. Endless burning. Flames feeding on flesh, ice cold and biting. No sweet air to bring relief, only fire. Lungs left lined in smoke and ash. Hours of agony. A voice sings an arsonist's lullaby. Hands gentle and soft come to ease the pain._

 

“There my brave girl, shhhh. Let it go. You need not fight any longer.”

 

“Jon.”

 

“He lives, just as you do. Rest now.”

 

_Damp earth, moss, and burning wood mingle with foul odors. Colors swirl around blurred faces. Queer muffled voices float about then dissolve into the silence. Heat, then cold, then heat again. Soft, cool hands. Soothing liquid to parched lips and throat. Sleep. Sleep. Blessed sleep._

 

His limbs feel weighted, compressed, as if he lies beneath the earth, a corpse within its grave. He’d have no doubt if not for the light filtering through his heavy lids, and the slight awareness is all it takes for the terrors and despair to come rushing back to seize him.

 

“Dany!”

 

“Your Grace! It's alright. Lay down, it's alright. She’s right beside you. She's only sleeping.”

 

Jon jerks away from the cool hand upon his shoulder, groaning as pain lances through him like hot arrows. He turns his head to the side, but his eyes won’t open. _She was gone, dead. They're lying. This is some cruel, horrible trick._

 

_“_ Your Grace, I promise she's alright. Open your eyes.” He turns back, opening them to find Meera standing over him, her face etched with worry in the candle light. “Look for yourself. I wouldn't lie to you, Your Grace,” she says, voice soft, yet sure. She grabs the sheet he’s laying on in both hands. “Here, let me help you so it won't hurt as much.” She pulls gentle and slow, rolling him over to his side.

 

The air leaves him, his heart slamming against his chest, like a boulder flung at a castle wall. _His Dany._ Pale and still, bruised, scarred, bandaged and battered, but breathing. He watches his trembling fingers reach out and touch her cheek, gasping at the warmth seeping into them. Relief rushes through him, shaking him to his very core, a great sob wrenching free from his throat.

 

He buries his face into the pillow to muffle his cries, his fingertips now resting over the steady pulse thrumming away in her neck.

 

“Jon?” her sweet voice whispers, weak fingers threading through his hair.

 

Lifting his head and ignoring the throbbing pain within his skull he looks into the pools of violet he feared he’d never see again. His tears burn hot and copious, blurring the beautiful sight of her as her own well up and spill over.

 

Then they know the warmth of each other, damaged arms wrapped clumsily, yet carefully, noses buried in necks, drawing in precious scents, hands and lips gentle and reverent as they search beloved faces. Words are spoken, but most are lost to gasping breaths and tear stricken throats, neither able to voice the horrors they endured just yet.

 

The hurried shuffling of feet and a flash of dark furs and curls at the end of their bed catch Dany’s attention. “Meera–,” she whispers, her voice strained and weak, but the girl cuts her off.

“I was just leaving, Your Grace. My apologies,” she mumbles, reaching for the door.

 

Dany, shakes her head and swallows before trying to speak again. “No, please stay.”

 

Jon reluctantly eases himself away from his wife, knowing they need to focus on the rest. “Please, Lady Reed. What can you tell us? How long have we been here? Has there been word from our armies?” he asks. “My brother,” he adds, hesitant, praying there’s still a chance.

 

A riot of expressions cross Meera’s face, finally settling on heavy disquiet. She licks her lips, eyes dropping to the floor. “Elric and the Lady would be best to explain everything, Your Graces. I’ll go get them.” With that she rushes through the door, giving them no chance to stop her.

 

“Lady?” Dany wonders, brows twisted. Jon shrugs, no more knowledgeable than her.

 

Troubled and tired, they sink back into the surprisingly soft mattress beneath them, eyes and hands once again roaming.

 

“I thought I’d lost you,” Jon whispers, his voice gravelly with disuse, his fingers hovering over the handprint seared into her neck. The skin is puckered tightly and shining like a blade of blue steel.

 

“I promised, didn't I?” she answers, mouthing the words, her broken voice hushed as she runs her hand over the strange hard bandage that covers his arm.

 

He takes it in his own, eyeing the same silvery blue scars upon her palm and fingers before pressing them to his lips. “Aye.” Her screams peal through his mind and his eyes slam shut against the barrage, only to see her thrown through the air like a child's toy to break upon the blackened ground. He swallows down the bile rising in his throat and focuses on her sweet face. “How do you feel?”

 

Eyes watery, she looks him over, still not sure he's real and fearing he could disappear on her at any moment. “Thinner. Weak.” She shakes her head, gently running a thumb across his red and angry eyebrow. He’ll soon have another fetching scar to go with the rest. “Like an old sheaf of parchment that's ready to turn to dust. Or a twist of rotten silk. You?”

 

“I was thinking like leather stretched too tight, the skin worn so thin the light’s gettin’ through.”

 

“We’re not the same,” she says.

 

Sadness pinches at his brow, lifting it over his deep, inky eyes. “No,” he agrees, “but we're still here. We’re alive.”

 

She nods, a ghost of a smile upon her lips before she traps them between her teeth, a small mewling sound escaping along with a single tear as her eyes squeeze shut. _  
_

 

A sickening fear hits Jon as he watches it slide down her cheek. It swallows him whole, leaving his heart pounding and nausea to fill his gut. Gods please, not their babe.

 

He slips his hand under the covers and over her ribs, his touch feather light and hovering, too afraid to move lower for fear the firm swell beneath her skin may be gone. He stares down at her stricken face, willing her to open her eyes and see the question in his own. When she doesn't he can stand it no longer. Dropping his forehead to hers, he grips a handful of her gown. “Dany, tell me,” he begs, “Please.”

 

Her heart breaks anew at the desperation flowing from him. She chokes down a sob and grips his hand in her own, pressing it over their child, still safe and sound within her womb. “Still with us,” she whispers.

 

He gasps into her mouth, “Thank the gods.”

 

She whimpers as he kisses her fiercely, stroking his face and staring into his watery eyes once he pulls away. “Our babe is fine. There's been no bleeding, or cramping. Meera told me as soon as I woke. You were still sleeping.”

 

“You're sure? You don't feel any different?” he frets.

 

She shakes her head. “Not where our babe is concerned, no. We're fine, my love. I promise.”

 

He presses his cheek to hers, drawing in deep breaths of her sweet scent, holding her as tightly as he can without causing her pain. “I love you. I love you so fooking much.”

 

“I love you too,” she whispers, clinging to him.

 

Jon pulls away, looking down on her with an awe-filled smile. “We did it. We killed that fookin’ frozen bastard.”

 

She laughs, only to wince at the pain in her throat. “ _You_ did. I did nothing but anger him. I tried to hit his heart–” she tries, but he cuts her off.

 

“Seven hells, woman!” he exclaims. “You battled him in the skies, chased him down, then battled him again. You walked into the fire and fought him. You stuck him with not one blade, but two. You crippled him with pain. I don't know how, but he was nothing but a creature writhing in agony by the time I was any help.”

 

“You knocked him from the sky,” she whispers as loudly as her throat allows, poking him emphatically, but gently, before covering her face with a hand and sucking in a strangled breath. “Gods, Jon. I’ve never felt such terror seeing you falling like that.” She meets his eyes again, lip trembling. “Then to find you on Drogon's back. You were so pale, there was blood everywhere, and you weren't moving,” she gasps.

 

Hating himself for the fear and pain he caused her, he pulls her close, rubbing her back as best he can. “Shhh, let's not, okay? We're here, we’re all three here. It's over. We won. That's all that matters. I’ll be fine if we never speak of it again.”

 

“Me too,” she mumbles into his chest.

 

They lay quiet, never separating, minds still swirling with memories more vivid than either want until a light knock sounds against their door and a new voice begs entrance to their tiny resting place. At their bidding, a woman glides into the room, Elric following her sedately. A peculiar sense of knowing invades them both. Tall, ethereal, and draped in red, her presence fills the room to every rough-hewn nook and cranny.

 

They straighten as best they can, which is barely at all, exchanging concerned glances.

 

Pale, slender fingers grasp her hood, removing it to reveal a head of silver hair as she lifts dark, yet unmistakable violet eyes and surveys them. “I am pleased to see you both looking so well,” she greets, voice soft, soothing and gentle, like the murmuring of a mother over her sleeping child.

 

Their shock is palpable, neither having seen anyone who so resembles Daenerys. The perfect pale skin, moon-kissed hair, and amethyst eyes all so similar, yet where Daenerys’ face is smooth and round, this woman's is long and angular.

 

Dany shakes herself and finds her voice. “Is it you we have to thank for that?”

 

The beautiful woman tilts her head. “R’hllor, Your Grace. As his servant I can only do what he allows.”

 

“We thank you all the same…?”

 

“I am called, Ilanthe, Your Grace. And please, save your voice.” She walks to the table beneath the one tiny window within their room, pouring steaming liquid from the kettle that sits upon it into an earthen cup, then brings it to Daenerys. “Drink, Your Grace. Liquorice root tea, it will help your throat. Sip it slowly.”

 

As his wife gratefully takes the cup from the priestess, Jon narrows his eyes at her. “Did Melisandre send you? How long have we been here?”

 

Unfazed by his demanding questions, her responding smile is small and knowing. “She did not. It was I that sent her. And it is the night of the third day, Your Grace.”

 

Jon and Dany exchange another glance, this one more puzzled than the last. “Three days? It feels like an age,” Dany whispers. “Please, my Lady, help us understand,” she asks, and sips at her tea.

 

“It is a long tale, perhaps when you are both stronger,” the priestess suggests. “You’ve only just woken.”

 

Jon looks to Dany and she nods her head. “We're strong enough for all of it,” he answers for them.

 

“As you wish.” Ilanthe sits, Elric does as well. They all wait, watching as she stares into the flames of the small fire, her fingers caressing the blood red jewel upon her throat. It pulses with light, like a smouldering ember.

 

Jon grows impatient, easing his body further up the bed with his one good arm, teeth buried into his plump bottom lip to withhold any sound of pain, his dark eyes focused on their visitor. Dany frets beside him, wrapping her hand around his clenched fist, ignoring the tight pull of her scarred skin as he takes several shallow breaths.

 

“We’ll heal, right? She's going to be fine, and the babe?” he demands of the priestess, the pain easing enough he can finally speak.

 

Ilanthe nods her head, her face void of any emotion. “I feared, more than once, that you were both not long for this world, but I fear no longer. The wounds you suffered will not bring death to any of you now. Though I do suggest a fortnight of rest, or two. You need time to gain all of your strength once more and to allow your broken bones to begin healing.”

 

“A fortnight?” Dany protests, “Our men, my dragons. And Cersei. She will not wait for us to gain our strength.”

 

“You have saved us all from a fate greater than death, there are others who will rise to defeat your enemy.”

 

“What’d you mean?” Jon grunts.

 

“There are many fiercely loyal to you both and they too have felt the pain dealt by the false queen. She sealed her own fate long ago, you need not worry. Her end is near.”

 

“Alright, but what of our armies, my dragons. Our families,” Dany insists, straining her throat too far and sending herself into a fit of coughing. Jon hovers worriedly, tipping her cup of tea to her lips as soon as it eases. She drinks eagerly then deflates into her pillows.

 

As Jon smooths away the damp hair from her brow, Ilanthe smiles softly at her. “Your dragons are well. They are not far and are certain to come when their mother calls. As for war, it is a terrible thing. There were losses, but there was not a soul who marched with you who did not know the price. Those who survived are being seen to, just as you are, Your Grace.”

 

Meera enters the room once more, carrying a scroll. Jon immediately recognizes the sea green seal. _Manderly._ He reaches for it, flicking his fingers impatiently. Meera's eyes dart to the red woman, then back to Jon before she steps closer and passes him the scroll, more than a little reluctant.

 

Dany leans her head against his shoulder to read along as he opens it.

 

_Jon,_

 

_I pray this finds you and our queen alive and well. The Great War is won, the dead are no more. One moment we were fighting for our lives, the next they dropped like stones. I feel certain, as do the rest of us, you and Daenerys are to thank for that and that the Night King is no more. Nearly two thirds of your combined armies survived. We have burned or buried the dead as their custom and are moving the injured to White Harbor._

 

_I regret to say several of those closest to you did not survive. I’ve made a list of everyone, but thought these you would prefer to know sooner rather than later. Ser Jorah Mormont, Beric Dondarrion, Theon Greyjoy, and the sellsword Bronn. Ser Jaime Lannister and the red woman, Melisandre have both perished as well. And we have searched tirelessly, but your sister, Gendry, and The Hound are gone, but presumed alive. Horses are missing, as well as their weapons._

 

_Again, we pray you are both well, and we  eagerly await word._

 

_Your friend, Samwell_

 

Jon allows the parchment to fall to his lap, placing his hand over Dany’s where it grips his arm and presses his face into her hair. Only the crackle of the fire in the small hearth can be heard for several long moments before they become the king and queen once more.

 

“Have you sent ravens out?” Jon asks, “Told Sam and my sister that we survived?”

 

Elric nods. “Yes, Your Grace. To White Harbor and Winterfell first, then to the rest of your allied houses. They should all know by now. Others can be sent at your behest.”

 

“My brother…” Meera's sudden exit from the room turns Jon's grief from a shifting shadow into a grappling hook lodged firmly within his heart. He swallows down the lump in his throat, doing his best to collect himself as Dany carefully hugs herself to his side.

 

“Has he been laid to rest?” she asks for him.

 

“In a way of sorts, Your Grace,” Elric answers.

 

“ _What_ does that mean?” Jon bites out. “We’d all be dead if not for him. He deserves a proper resting place. _In Winterfell_ , with his family.”

 

“I'm afraid that isn't possible, Your Grace,” Ilanthe’s soothing voice interjects.

 

“Why not?”

 

“It's the trees, Your Grace. The old gods. They claimed him,” Elric explains. When Jon can only stare, he tries again. “Once you're able, I will take you to him so you’ll understand and can pay your respects.”

 

Jon pushes aside his grief for his lost brother for the time being. His little sister is lost in another way and can still be helped. “Arya, Gendry. Have they gone where I think they have?” he asks Ilanthe.

 

“Yes.”

 

A string of colorful curses leaves Jon. Dany watches warily as he runs a hand over his face, his eyes falling closed while he lets out a ragged sigh.

 

“Where have they gone?” she asks him gently.

 

“I’ll give you three guesses and the first two don't count,” he grumbles, sinking further into the pillows, his weakened state suddenly glaring.

 

The truth hits Dany like a wave from a stormy sea nearly taking her breath with it. “She wouldn't?”

 

“She already fookin’ has,” he says, defeated.

 

“We’ll go after her,” she declares, “We’ll find the dragons, and then we'll go. She'll be fine.”

 

“The deed will be done before you could reach them,” Ilanthe says.

 

“Will they succeed?” Jon asks.

 

“They will.”

 

“Without injuries?”

 

She nods her head. “Your sister is quite proficient. You needn't worry.”

 

“She's my little sister. I'm worried.”

 

“She's an assassin, better at killing than either of you,” Ilanthe counters.

 

“Thanks for that,” he deadpans, wiping a hand over his tired face once more, then eyeing her skeptically. “Tell us why you're here. What _you_ have to do with all of this, and us.”

 

Ilanthe ignores Jon's prickliness, growing pensive, the flames once again drawing her gaze. “Those of us whom serve the Lord of Light do so at great cost. The weight of all resting upon one’s shoulders can be–” An ill-humored snort from Jon followed by a smack brings her attention back to them. Her expression turns indulgent seeing the pair scowling at one another. “The King is right to be offended, my Queen.” She looks to Jon. “Forgive me, Your Grace. Of course you are both well aware of such a burden.”

 

He nods solemnly and Daenerys gently smiles at her. “Continue, please,” she asks.

 

Ilanthe stands, folding her hands within the sleeves of her blood red robes, then turns towards the fire. “As I’m sure you have already surmised, the blood of the Valyria flows in my veins as well as yours.” She looks over her shoulder at them for a moment, then back into the flames. “While I’m from our homeland, I left long before its rise to power. As a young girl I was taken from my family to Asshai, raised as a servant to R'hllor. When it was decided I was ready I was sent west under the guise of a slave of the First Men before they left for Westeros.”

 

Jon scoffs. “You’re trying to tell us you're _thousands_ of years old?” he asks, incredulous.

 

She turns around to face them, her violet eyes glistening. “I am.”

 

“That isn't possible.”

 

Her smile is enigmatic. “Your wife walks through fire unburnt. Birthed dragons from stone. You have been raised from the dead. The two of you have only just ended a reign of magic so powerful…” She shakes her head and raises her eyebrows at him. “Magic is capable of anything, never doubt its possibilities.”

 

“Let her finish, Jon,” Dany scolds, thoroughly caught within the web Ilanthe is spinning with her tale.

 

“Fine,” he grunts. “Continue. Please.”

 

She nods, slight smile still in place, but it fades quickly. “You asked Elric the last time you were here what the Night King wanted. He told you death. He was not entirely wrong. That is what he wanted. The death of those who took away the thing he loved most, and all the ones who stood between him and that very thing.”

 

“And that is…?” Jon asks when she falls silent.

 

“Me.”

 

Daenerys gasps. “You?”

 

“I was his wife.”

 

Jon and Dany are stunned into silence, eyes wide and mouths gaping.

 

Expecting such a reaction, Ilanthe continues her tale. “The years passed. The fighting began between the men and the Children. I met him the night he came with a few others to my master’s home. They wanted to discuss plans for further attacks. I got in the way, spilled something. My master struck me to the floor and before I knew it, he was there beside me bleeding out as Rodrik Stark wiped the blood from his blade on my master’s tunic.”

 

“Stark,” Jon breathes, eyes darting back and forth between Daenerys and Ilanthe. “Old Nan told us that in one of her stories. I… I didn't…”

 

“She spoke true, he was a Stark,” Ilanthe attests. “One of the first. We were also the first union of Ice and Fire.” She looks at Jon. “Your parents were the second. Both unions brought only death and destruction to Westeros. But you two, _you_ have finally brought healing.”

 

“I don't understand,” Daenerys cuts in, her ragged voice harsh as a winter wind. “ _Why_? Why did there ever need to be a union of Ice and Fire? Why allow two to destroy and force another to clean up their mess?” she demands.

 

As Jon reaches out and takes his wife's hand, soothing her with whispered words, Ilanthe looks at Daenerys, shaking her head. “No one knows why the gods do what they do. I am only a servant sent to follow his orders.”

 

Dany scowls back at her. “That is nowhere near good enough for me, but please, continue. I will rage at your god for his cruel games later.”

 

Ilanthe smiles, her shoulders even raising slightly with her mirth, but again it's replaced by enduring calm a moment later. “By the laws of the time I became Rodrik’s slave. He took my master’s life, so mine was his,” she explains. “He immediately freed me, and soon after asked me to be his wife. I was told before I left Asshai I would know my path when it was laid before me, and I did.” She walks to the little window, looking out at the darkness through its grimy glass to places and times they could never see. “We were happy for awhile. He loved me, fiercely, and despite myself, I too fell in love with him.”

 

“If this is too painful, you need not tell us,” Dany offers in a whisper.

 

Ilanthe's smile returns, one of gratitude gracing her beautiful face. “I thank you, but you both deserve to know.” She returns to her chair beside Eldric, folding her hands together in her lap, spine straight as an arrow, face stoic. “The fighting had only increased with the Children. They grew desperate to save their lands. Rodrick and I were taken during the night from our bed. They threatened me to make him do as they wished. It worked. He would have died for me if necessary. Instead they turned him into a weapon, and he in turn made others the same. For awhile he was only a soldier, doing as they bid on the promise he would see me again, be freed from the magic so we could go back to our lives. But that promise was broken time and again. The fury grew so strong within him his love for me turned to madness. One so great the Children could never hope to control it.” She tilts her head. “The rest you already know.”

 

“Fookin’ hells,” Jon groans and heaves a heavy sigh, face etched with pain and frustration. “All this time. All that death over a broken heart.”

 

Daenerys pins him with flashing amethyst eyes. “I would burn the world to ashes if someone took you from me, Jon.”

 

“No, you wouldn't,” he retorts as sure and hard as storm waves meet the shore. “You're better than that. You’d never kill innocent people to ease your own pain.”

 

“He’s right, Your Grace,” Ilanthe agrees. “You are better than that, and so is he. You both proved it only a few days ago.”

 

Dany dismisses their praise, her emotions too volatile to except such without her fragile walls tumbling. “Regardless of what I would do, I’m sorry for your suffering. I cannot imagine the pain,” she laments.

 

“I have had many years to accept that pain, and all the rest that followed, but I thank you all the same,” Ilanthe returns.

 

“Why did you not go home?” Daenerys asks gently. “Why are you still here after all this time?” Her eyes cut to Eldric dark and dangerous. “With the ones who betrayed you.”

 

Ilanthe sighs softly, eyes falling to her clasped hands. “I could not help but feel I had made a mistake, caused all the death and pain. That he hadn't been my path at all.” She looks up, meeting Daenerys' eyes. “I needed to stay and find my true one.”

 

“And did you?” Dany asks.

 

She nods, lifting her hands up and open. “I did, and here I sit at the end of it,” she declares, her smile finally reaching her eyes.

 

\---

 

After being fussed over by Ilanthe, their injuries checked and rechecked, both carefully bathed and helped to and from the privy, then fed a light stew, they are finally left alone with strict orders to rest.

 

“I still can't believe it,” Jon sighs, staring up at the thatched roof above them. “Not that he's gone and we're safe, and certainly not why he was ever here to begin with. The weight of him has been smotherin’ me for years. I'm not sure I know how to act now it's gone.”

 

“I imagine it will take time to truly believe it all,” Dany muses, “to find a new reality.” She rolls towards him, grateful her sore shoulder is on the opposite side so she can. It was badly dislocated when that monster tossed her away. One of her ankles fared even worse. Walking on it anytime soon is not an option. It too is wrapped in hardened linen strips, just as Jon’s broken arm is.

 

He rolls to face her, wincing all the while. Ilanthe had changed the bandages around his torso, unwrapping them to reveal a gastly map of bruises in a hundred shades of black and blue, shocking against his paleness. Dany had needed to bite her lip near to drawing blood to keep from crying out at the sight of him. Ilanthe informed them only a few of his ribs had survived the battle without cracks. Moving and even breathing would be quite uncomfortable for him for awhile.

 

She brushes back a few curls from his forehead, still damp from washing, tucking them behind his ear. “Are you feeling any better? How's your pain?”

 

“A lil’ better. Whatever she gave me seems to be workin'. Still feel as if all my bones have been trampled by your horde though, and I'm pretty certain the horde is trapped inside my skull at the moment.” He reaches up and gingerly checks the lump on the back of his head. “Dying and nearly freezin’ to death were less painful,” he grunts, then catches her fingers and presses them to his lips. “What about you?”

 

“My ankle is throbbing, and my shoulder a bit, other than that I'm just…”

 

“Exhausted?”

 

“Yes, certainly that, but…” Her brooding frown could beat his own.

 

“But what?” he asks when she seems at a loss.

 

She worries her plump bottom lip with teeth and tongue before taking a deep breath, eyes focused on her fingers linked with his. “When I found you on Drogon's back… I was terrified I’d have to find a way to live without you. Then when he… when he had me by the throat. The burning, the pain, it was nothing compared to what I felt in my heart seeing the devastation in your eyes as you watched,” she rushes out with a gasp.

 

“Hey now,” he whispers, sliding his fingers into her hair and cupping the back of her head, drawing her closer and pressing kisses to her forehead. “I thought we agreed no talking about that anymore.”

 

“I know, I’m sorry. I can't seem to make it stop running through my head.”

 

“What do you need? How can I help?”

 

“You can't.”

 

“I can and I will. Tell me what you need.”

 

“I need _you_ , Jon. I need to see... I need to erase the bad with the good. To see nothing but love in your eyes, not the horror that's seared into my mind. We're alive, and my body, my heart, they’re desperate to revel in that.”

 

“Aye, I know exactly what you mean. Surviving a battle will do that to ya.”

 

She trails her fingers from his ear to the hollow of his throat. “Do you think we could be careful?”

 

He snorts. “Careful isn't what our bodies seem capable of once they touch.”

 

“We could try our best?” she tries again, knowing it's not possible, but hoping to tease a smile from him regardless.

 

She gets a smile and his deep laughter too, only for them to be cut off by a groan and grimace. “Oh seven hells, don’t make me laugh,” he gasps, his breathing short and shallow, his beautiful face twisted with pain. “There's nothing I’d like more than to be buried inside you, lov–”

 

“No, no. Hush. I was teasing,” she rushes out. “I couldn't stand it if I hurt you more.”

 

Grabbing the blankets, Jon rolls slowly onto his back, carefully throwing the blankets off them in the process. “I wasn't teasin’. Help me get these off,” he grunts, pulling at his small clothes.

 

“Jon, no. We’ll hurt you even worse than you already are, then we'll never get out of this bed,” she protests.

 

He manages a smirk. “Am I too weak and ugly for you now?”

 

“Of course not! You're perfect, just as you've always been.” She bites her lip as her hand goes to her scarred throat of its own accord, a rare bout of insecurity seizing her. “Am I?”

 

The scowl across his brow is harsh. “Now who needs to hush?” He stares at her a moment, his displeasure fading to tender adoration. “You're the furthest thing from weak and ugly I’ve ever known, love,” he whispers.

 

She wants to trust his words, but fears just looking on her will cause him pain, horrible  memories to reach up and choke him each time he sees the unsightly scars until he can look on her no more. Ilanthe assured her they would fade with time, but doubts cling to her heart like cobwebs.

 

“Dany, look at me,” he demands, breaking her free from the tangle of anxiety. She looks into the eyes she adores, her heart swelling at the love flowing from them. “I don’t see them. Only you and who and what you are. The woman I love. My Queen, my wife, the mother of my child. My _salvation_. I’m yours. A few scars matter less than nothin’ to me.”

 

Tears well, but she refuses to let them fall as she leans over and presses a lingering kiss to his full lips. “Do you know how much I love you?” she whispers against them.

 

He kisses her back, grinning. “I’ve got a pretty good idea, now quit stallin’ and help me.”

 

“Are you sure? I can wait, Jon.”

 

“Maybe, but I can’t. We’ll be careful.”

 

“You just said we weren’t capable of being careful,” she fusses, even as she sits up, brushing his hand away to free him of the restraining fabric herself. His cock already lays hard and enticing against his bandaged stomach, the tip swollen and red. The ache within her grows urgent.

 

“We’ve got no choice. Now your turn,” he orders, voice rough as gravel as he reaches down, taking his rigid cock in hand and stroking himself. “I want to see all of you.”

 

His eyes turn black as a starless sky as he props himself against a nest of pillows and watches her slip free of her gown and small clothes, her own mesmerized by them and the blatant movement of his hand, a rush of wet heat flooding from between her thighs at the sight.

 

"You like watchin’ me,” he says, his voice the rumble of a rock slide.

 

She breathes out, shifting closer. “Yes.”

 

"One of these days we’ll get around to watchin’ each other, but right now I need you. Climb up here."

 

Moving slow and cautious, Dany straddles his hips, one hand braced beside him, her broken ankle off the bed, her weight resting on her good knee as she hovers above him.

 

His cock still in hand, Jon rubs it through her slick folds, circling her hard little nub with the head as they drink from each other with lips and tongue, both parched and wanting, the ache like a scar ripped open between them that can only be healed with more of the same. He can taste it, like the bite of metal drawing blood, sharp and clean.

 

Impatient, Dany tilts her hips and he slides home, groaning deep, her whimpers catching in her throat. Her delicious heat draws him in as she sinks down, her body a quivering mess above him, his tight as a bowstring beneath. Knowing she's probably as sore as he is, he forces himself to lie still, to let her lead, praying their bodies allow them the release they both so desperately need.

 

She sits back, consuming him to the hilt, settling down and cradling his hips with her own, thighs spread wide to save his ribs. Jon lifts a hand to her breast, palming it gently as she watches him, frustrated he has only one good hand to worship her with. Making the best of what he does have, he showers one, then the other with attention, fingers pinching and pulling at her wine red nipples.

 

Soon she's rolling her hips in long, slow strokes, her soft mewls and moans only adding to the indulgence. Then she rocks forward, squeezing his cock with her silkened walls from base to tip before sinking down again. Jon’s eyes to slam shut with pleasure. He could swear she's trying to suck his cock right off, and by gods he’ll gladly let her. Over and over and over in a maddening rhythm she rises and falls, leaving him teetering on the edge of sanity. By the rise of her whimpers and the trembling of her limbs, she isn't far behind.

 

"Jon,” she cries out, sounding almost frightened by the intensity that's built between them so quickly.

 

It takes all his control not to spill within her the moment he opens his eyes. His goddess rides him, moon kissed skin flushed pink from arousal, soft lashes fluttering against cheeks, lips gasping for air, swollen and bruised from his kisses, breasts full and firm, swaying as she moves over him.

 

His name leaves her once more in a keening cry and he coos at her, running a soothing hand up her thigh. "I’ve got you, Dany. I'm right here." Her eyes find his, a thousand shades of twilight begging him to ease her path. "Pinch your nipples, love. I need you to come with me," he orders, his thumb finding her sensitive bundle of nerves within her silken folds, slippery and soaked with her need.

 

He rubs it in slow, tight circles as another cry overtakes her, head falling back, hips rocking harder, urgent whimpers and mewls slipping free of her throat. Her hands run up to her breasts, squeezing them as he longs to do, then her fingers are twisting and pulling at her nipples.

 

A feral growl escapes him, his hips thrusting up, the sensual beauty of her more than his body can stand. He isn't going to last and tells her so with a snarl. “Fook, Dany. You need to come for me.”

 

His words spur her hips to an erratic pace, her cries growing louder with every forward stroke. He begs then, as she works him harder, her velvet walls clenching around him, stealing his breath. “Dany, please.”

 

That's all it takes, she cries out his name, convulsing over and around him, as he grunts and groans beneath her, hips thrusting upwards with no caution as he fills her with his seed.

 

Dany slumps over, catching herself on one hand, still panting, Jon doing his best to control his own breathing beneath her. "I love you," she gasps against his lips. Their kiss is messy and wrecked, then slowly sits back up, allowing him to breath and gifting him with a sweet smile.

 

“I love you,” he pants back.

 

"Are you okay?”

 

He nods, smiling dreamily up at her. "Will you ever quit worryin’ about me?"

 

"No," she snorts. "Do you want me to?"

 

"No. I like it," he admits without shame.

 

She smirks. "That's what I thought.”

 

“We didn't hurt you, did we?” he asks, palming the swell of their babe.

 

Her hand covers his. “No, my love. We're both fine. More than fine.” She carefully and reluctantly climbs off him, using her discarded smallclothes to clean them up, then settles herself at his side, her heated face resting against his cool shoulder.

 

“So what now?” he asks, “Since we're no longer fooked.” He delights in her giggle, turning his head to kiss her own.

 

“Mmmm, we could just _fook_ some more,” she purrs, then winks at him. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

 

His smile is bright with mischief and a balm to her heart. “Aye, we’ve certainly got plenty of time for that in the next few weeks if we're going to be stuck in this bed.”

 

Laughing softly, she nuzzles at his scruffy cheek before giving it a kiss. “So we fuck and heal and bathe and rest until we can stand it no longer, then go find our family and all head south. I seem to remember a promise to help me–”

 

Watching her go suddenly silent, eyes wide, lips parted with a gasp, Jon can't help the fear that grips him. He’s known many to live days after a battle, all seeming well, then in a blink they're gone. “Dany, what is it? Where does it hurt?” he asks, hand hovering. She gives a tiny shake of her head that does nothing to ease his worry.

 

Afraid to move too much for fear the miracle will cease and he’ll miss it, Dany barely breathes as she pushes the blankets down, then grabs his hand, placing it over her swelling stomach. “Do you feel it?” she whispers, barely loud enough to hear.

 

He does. There, beneath his palm the tiniest of flutters dances under her warm skin. His heart nearly stops. “Gods, Dany. Is that…” The rest of his words get stuck in his swelling throat as another wave of movement stirs against his hand.

 

Her responding smile is enough to light the rest of his days. “It is. That's our babe, Jon.”

 

Outside their window, dawn breaks, mother of pearl, misted gold, and tender, the promise of spring in the iridescent light.


End file.
